


Constellations (Things You Left Unsaid)

by DasWarSchonKaputt



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anxiety, Bisexual Victor Nikiforov, Chat Logs, Demisexual Katsuki Yuuri, Gen, M/M, OR 10 EITHER TBH, OR 9 FOR THAT MATTER, Phichit and Yuuri are basically BFFs, STILL NOT OVER EPISODE 7, Seriously I had so much fun writing them, Still love that Phichit's nickname for Celestino is Ciao Ciao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8636029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasWarSchonKaputt/pseuds/DasWarSchonKaputt
Summary: What is Katsuki Yuuri’s greatest asset when competing? If you ask the media, they’ll tell you it’s his flair for artistry, something that shines through in his earnest, winning performances. If you ask Yuuri, he’ll tell you that it’s his coach, Celestino, and the answer will sound as fake as it is.The truth, though, is something that Yuuri has always known. He wouldn't be half the skater he is without his prescription for anti-anxiety medication.   [AKA a role reversal au, wherein Yuuri is a figure skating legend in the making - mostly made, or so they say - who decides to take a season off at the peak of his career, and Victor is the runaway-cum-international student from Russia who joins his university and cons Yuuri into becoming his coach. Featuring Phichit Chulanont as the worst (best) friend ever, and Yuri Plisetsky as Yuuri's self-proclaimed Arch Rival.]





	1. victoria concordia crescit

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Talk to Me" by Lauren Aquilina.
> 
> Because I needed something happy and fun to write in the face of all my lab report stuff. Enjoy.
> 
>  ~~(5-Dec-16) Trying out a new summary. Might switch back.~~  
>  (9-Dec-16) Switched back to the old one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (22-Dec-16) Fiddled the dates to make the timeline work better.

**phichit+chu** omg 

**phichit+chu** have you seen this? 

_phichit+chu sent katsuki_yu a link_

**phichit+chu** my life is complete yuuri this is all i ever wanted 

**phichit+chu** i might as well quit 

**phichit+chu** nothing i do now will ever top this moment 

**katsuki_yu** you woke me up 

**katsuki_yu** at 3:41 am 

**katsuki_yu** to tell me that the internet thinks you are cute???? 

**katsuki_yu** phichit I have a flight in less than five hours what the hell 

**phichit+chu** they dont just think i am cute 

**phichit+chu** they think i am the cutest. the superlative is very important there. 

**katsuki_yu** phichit this is not news. 

**katsuki_yu** I have always known you were the hot friend. 

**phichit+chu** omg 

**phichit+chu** u think im hot? 

**katsuki_yu** not personally, no, but empirical evidence suggests this may be the case. 

**phichit+chu** wow 

**katsuki_yu** phichit there are three separate blogs dedicated to your ass. four if you count the one that also has other skaters on it. 

**phichit+chu** 1) if ur talking about r8rthosesk8rbois on tumblr no it does nt count. they gave chris a 7.5 

**phichit+chu** a SEVVEN POINT FIVE 

**phichit+chu** disgraceful 

**phichit+chu** what is left of the man, if they take away his biggest asset? 

**katsuki_yu** probably something more family-friendly, lbr. 

**phichit+chu** 2) that wasn’t what the wow was for anyway 

**phichit+chu** it was a ‘wow yuuri sucks at letting people down gently’ and a tiny bit of a ‘wow this is why my amazing best friend is still single’ 

**katsuki_yu** phichit. 

**katsuki_yu** no. 

**phichit+chu** i didnt say anything 

**katsuki_yu** you didn’t have to 

**katsuki_yu** ever since we met you’ve gotten like this at exactly the same time each year 

**katsuki_yu** straight after worlds 

**katsuki_yu** I stg you must have a reminder set on your phone or something 

**katsuki_yu** “competition season is over! time to get yuuri a date!” 

**phichit+chu** actually it says ‘competition season is over! time to help yuuri shed his stubborn virginity!’ 

**katsuki_yu** you are a terrible friend. 

**phichit+chu** i am the best friend 

**katsuki_yu** the two are not mutually exclusive. 

**phichit+chu** all im saying is that u r a hot prospect rn yuuri 

**phichit+chu** there are loads of girls out there who would date u for the gold in ur medals if nothing else 

**katsuki_yu** you say the nicest things, phichit. 

**phichit+chu** jokes aside yuuri u are like the most eligible bachelor i kno rn. 

**phichit+chu** atheletic, not awful looking, kind, funny, an ass thats a solid 8.3 

**katsuki_yu** I have landed jumps that scored higher than my ass according to you. 

**phichit+chu** bc ur a ridiculous crazy person who packs the second half of his programs with quads 

**phichit+chu** oooh thats another positive: u have amazing stamina 

**katsuki_yu** PHICHIT 

**phichit+chu** what? i speak but the truth 

**phichit+chu** i mean srsly yuuri ur only problem is that ur a total fs nerd but like that can b cute too 

**katsuki_yu** ah. 

**katsuki_yu** about that, pichit 

**katsuki_yu** I probably won’t be participating in the next season of figure skating. 

**phichit+chu** what 

**phichit+chu** yuuri what 

**phichit+chu** yuuri ur not answering ur phone im getting worried 

**phichit+chu** yuuri i stg if u dont answer im gonna call celestino 

**phichit+chu** when you see this, call me. 

\-- 

One of the very first interviews Yuuri ever did was for the university’s – well, magazine would probably be a bit of a stretch. _The Tab_ can only aspire to the heights reached by tabloid journalism. 

He was interviewed as he ate a rushed meal at the end of skating practice, Phichit making faces behind the evermore flustered journalism major. Yuuri doesn’t really remember much of what he said, but there is one question that has stuck with him. 

_What would you say is your greatest asset when competing?_

The done thing, Yuuri had been aware, was to credit his coach. Celestino deserved as much praise as Yuuri could give for putting up with him, really, and he stuttered out something to that tune. 

But for a few long seconds after he was asked that question, the truth was all Yuuri could think of. 

_My prescription for anti-anxiety medication._

He didn’t say that, though. He couldn’t. Even now, there are only five people in the world who know about his meds. His coach, his doctor, his parents, and Phichit. Not even Mari-nee has been let in on the secret of Katsuki Yuuri’s skating success. 

“Celestino,” Yuuri starts to say, but cuts himself off when his coach turns to face him. “I’m—sorry.” 

Celestino sighs. “We’ll talk about this back in Detroit, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri clenches his fists and looks at his lap. Not for the first time, he wishes he could be more like Phichit – bubbly and fun and wholly, completely in control of his thoughts. 

“I’m not angry, Yuuri,” Celestino says, a touch softer, “but we can’t talk about it here.” 

The hardest thing to realise about skating competitively – skating at the top of the world, all eyes on you – is that your performance and your choices do not just reflect on you. They’re attributed to your coach, to your equipment, to your friends and family, to your _country_. “Japan is counting on you!” an interviewer once told him, before the Olympics, and the phrase ricocheted around in his head until he forced himself to sleep. 

It may have been Yuuri’s choices that led to his year out from skating, but there’s a whole world of people looking to Celestino for the reason. 

Yuuri feels sick. 

Phichit missed out on qualifying for the worlds by a narrow margin, and a coursework deadline kept him in Detroit as opposed to flying out to be the most obnoxious cheerleader, ever. Yuuri scrolls through their conversation from earlier this morning, and tries to ignore how Phichit’s growing concern feels like twisting the knife. 

He closes his eyes. 

It will all be okay. It will all be okay. It will all— 

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding? 

“Excuse me?” 

Yuuri opens his eyes and the woman in front of him automatically rears backwards. 

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I didn’t realise you were asleep.” 

“I wasn’t,” Yuuri says. 

“In that case,” she pulls out a notepad. “If it’s not too much trouble… Could I get your autograph?” 

Yuuri forces a smile to his face. “Sure,” he says. “Would you like it in English or Japanese?” 

\-- 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
Your World Champion, ladies and gentlemen #katsukiyuuri #skaterbros5eva #WorldFigureSkatingChampionship2015  
[IMAGE] 

**Katie** @beansbeansbeans1002  
@phikachulanont Do you just have like… a folder full of embarrassing photos of Yuuri to post when he wins? 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
@beansbeansbeans1002 :D 

\-- 

His mother doesn’t get it. Neither does his father. 

Yuuri loves his parents dearly, loves them all the more when he thinks of how much they sacrificed to get him where he is now, but it’s been a long time since he’s felt like they understood him. Their acceptance is a distant thing, as it always has been. The first time Yuuri won a regional competition in Japan, his mother said, “That’s great, dear,” the same way she would if he had aced a test, or gotten a girlfriend. 

There’s nothing Yuuri can do that won’t be met by pride by his parents; they’re just as proud of him, the world-class skater, as they are of Mari, waitress at their inn. 

Shouldn’t that be reassuring? Even if he screws up in the most complete way possible – finishes last, loses his certification, fails his degree – they’ll still be proud of him. 

It just feels cheap. 

His parents love him, but they aren’t invested in him. They don’t expect anything from him; of course they’re never disappointed. 

He stands next to Celestino in baggage arrival, waiting for his suitcase, with his phone pressed to his ear. 

“Minako was telling us about an article she saw earlier,” his mother is saying. “Yuuri, is it true?” 

He can’t read her tone. “It’s true,” he says. 

“I don’t understand,” says his mother. “Why didn’t you call me?” 

Yuuri spots his bag on the carousel, but Celestino pushes him back before he can reach for it. 

“I…” He stops. “Sorry.” 

“Are you coming back home for the summer?” 

“No,” Yuuri says, though he winces when he remembers the same question being asked to him the past two years, always with the same answer. “I have… things to do. And Celestino wants to keep me nearby, in case…” 

His mother misreads him. “In case you change your mind?” She sounds warm. “I might come down and visit you, then. I’m sure your father and I could spare the funds for a plane ticket—” 

“During tourist season?” Yuuri asks. “Don’t be silly.” 

There’s a pause. “Yuuri, are you sure…” she trails off. “You don’t sound completely okay.” 

“I’m fine, Mum,” Yuuri says. “Celestino’s beckoning me over, though. I’ve got to go.” 

“Yuuri—” 

Yuuri hangs up before he can hear any more. 

She won’t call back. She’s never liked coming across as pushy. 

When Yuuri first came to America, the constant barrage of English was disorienting. He used to write his lecture notes in Japanese, unable to listen, process, and write in a foreign language all at the same time. It exhausted him, having to constantly play translator in his head, and he’d call home every other day just to hear the familiar syllables of Japanese from across the ocean. 

Understanding Celestino, for that matter, was a nightmare. American English was hard enough without a thick Italian accent layered over it. It took him and Phichit and embarrassingly long time to figure out that _ciao ciao_ wasn’t just an obscure English word that their coach had mangled. 

Yuuri can’t help but feel slightly foolish looking back on those days. English comes as easy as breathing to him no, accent or no, and as he wraps himself up in the familiar surroundings of the roman alphabet, he feels himself relax somewhat. 

“Good talk with your mom?” Celestino asks. 

“It was fine,” Yuuri says. 

Celestino passes him his bag, looking him up and down. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow,” he eventually says. “You look exhausted.” 

Yuuri nods. 

Celestino pauses in front of him, looking for a moment like he wants to say something else, but then he shakes his head. “Rest up, Yuuri.” 

Here’s the thing: Celestino is easy to please. He puts a higher value on effort than he does results, which is probably what persuaded him to take on Yuuri even when he was a lacklustre skater from Hasetsu. Yuuri has grown accustomed to having his coach’s approval and to have that shaken is—hard. 

He presses his lips together and fiddles with his glasses. His fingers twitch around his bag handle and he feels an urge within him build to go and do—something. It’s probably his avoidance impulse, screaming at him that it’s his last option to get out of talking to Phichit. 

There is a reason why Celestino makes them stay in separate rooms when competing. Yuuri’s not going to be getting much sleep tonight. 

Well. At least that would have been true regardless of Phichit’s influence. 

\-- 

Phichit is waiting for him when he gets back to the dorms, holding two mugs of something that is quickly revealed to be hot chocolate. “Celestino told me what happened,” he says, handing one of the mugs over to Yuuri. 

Yuuri takes the mug. It smells sweet – just how Phichit likes all of his drinks – and the thought of drinking it makes his stomach turn. “Yeah,” Yuuri says, looking down at his shifting reflection in the steaming liquid. “He asked if he could.” 

Phichit sighs, frustration bleeding through into it. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” 

Yuuri shrugs. 

“The first time I got through to Celestino, all he would tell me was that I needed to find your meds and lock them somewhere before you got back,” Phichit explains. “Do you know how terrifying that was to hear? I thought you had—” 

Yuuri shrugs again. He can’t stand the look of his face in the hot chocolate, so he puts the mug down on Phichit’s desk. 

Phichit bangs his own mug down. “Never do anything like that ever again.” 

“Sorry.” 

Phichit sighs again. “You really scared me, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, bowing his head. He flinches when he feels warm arms encircle him, then relaxes when he realises Phichit’s giving him a hug. 

“I hope you realise,” Phichit says into Yuuri’s shoulder, “that I’m going to make you go on two dates instead of just one, now.” 

Yuuri swallows past the guilt building in his throat and forces a smile to his face. “Okay,” he says. 

He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he is home. 

\-- 

**Top Figure Skater Yuuri Katsuki to Take Season Out  
** by Anna Jones, first posted March 31, 2015 

Earlier today, world-ranked figure skater, Yuuri Katsuki announced plans to take a season off from competing, citing a need to focus on his studies. The announcement was made in a small press conference and comes sharply on the heels of his World Championship win. 

There have been mixed reactions to the news, both from sports media, and from the general public. Many fans and fellow skaters have expressed dismay, and a few outright disapproval. 

Christophe Giacometti, who placed Fourth at this year’s World Championship, commented that he was “surprised, but supportive” of Katsuki’s decision. He elaborated, saying, “The lifespan of a professional skating career is very short. All of us have to think about what we’re going to do afterwards and how we’re going to make sure we’re able to do it. Yuuri’s not unwise for being proactive about his future.” 

He did, however, add, “I’m not sure if it’ll stick, though. Guys like Yuuri can’t stay away from the ice long. It’s in their blood.” 

Katsuki is well-known in the figure skating world for his talent for artistry backed by challenging programs. In 2011, he turned heads when he took silver at the Figure Skating Grand Prix, in spite of having been relatively unknown throughout his junior career. Recent seasons have been yet more successful: in 2014, Katsuki achieved what he and his coaches called a “perfect season”, taking gold in the Grand Prix, gold in the World Championship, and gold in the Olympics. He followed it with a similar sweep this season, taking gold in both the Grand Prix Final and in the World Championship. 

\-- 

The first time Victor lands a jump, he is thirteen years old. It’s two and a half weeks after he took up the sport, urged into it by summer ennui and the sight of his mother’s old skates sitting at the bottom of his closet. 

He lands perfectly, backwards and on one foot, his mother’s skates gliding smoothly out of the movement, and he almost mistakes the racing of his heart for fear. 

It’s like something has come dislodged in his brain. _Oh,_ he thinks. He jumps again. _Oh, so this is how it happens._

From then on, he is insatiable. Bigger jumps, better jumps, jumps that set every muscle in his body on fire. When he tires of throwing himself into the air – he never truly tires of it – he moves onto steps sequences. Showmanship. Tricky footwork that he drills into his memory and spins that make him dizzy. It barely takes him a year to outstrip everything that the coaches at his local rink can teach him. And still, he wants more. Craves it. 

Victor has always been the kind of overachiever that makes results look effortless, but figure skating puts a stop to that. He works his feet bloody, covers himself in bruises from falls, and skates and skates and skates. 

“You could win this competition in your sleep,” someone tells him once, and Victor thinks, _Maybe, but only because I dream of this every night._

He’s freshly sixteen when Yakov finds him, sixteen and sweeping regional competitions without breaking a sweat. 

Victor is tugging on the zip of his equipment bag when he hears someone approach him. He looks up and casts a dismissive eye over the man in front of him. Old and stubby – a grouch, no doubt. Victor isn’t interested at all in what he has to say. 

“Who taught you your triple axel?” Yakov asks. 

“My coach,” Victor says. “Who else?” 

Yakov snorts, like he doesn’t believe that. “It’s sloppy,” he says. “Your body tension is awful, the spins are too slow, and you were inches away from over-rotating. It looked amateurish.” 

_Yeah, but I landed it,_ Victor thinks. 

Victor shrugs. “Won me first place,” he says. He turns away, thinking that that is that. 

But Yakov surprises him. “Do you want to win first,” Yakov says, “or do you want to be the best?” 

Victor pauses. “Sorry,” he says. “Who did you say you were again?” 

\-- 

The first thing Yakov does is make Victor get new skates. His new student capitulates easily enough and, really, that should have been his first warning. 

“You bought yourself women’s skates,” he says flatly. 

Victor smiles widely and tosses his hair over his shoulder. It makes him look unspeakably vapid. 

Yakov drops his head into his forehead. He doesn’t know why he expected anything different. 

\-- 

**21 Sports Friendships That We Can’t Get Enough Of  
** from Buzzfeed, March 30 2015 

**19\. Victor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva, and Yuri Plisetsky**

Did someone say OT3? Meet Victor Nikiforov, 18-year-old professional figure skater and his two mentors in the sport – Mila Babicheva and Yuri Plisetsky. You’ll probably know the latter two from either their highly publicised sporting successes, or their inability to stay off social media for more than two days in a row. (Seriously, we timed it.) 

Feast your eyes upon this trio of athletes. Who is the hot friend, you ask? They’re all the hot friend. 

**6\. Yuuri Katsuki and Phichit Chulanont**

#skaterbros5eva 

For a sport that’s as niche as figure skating, it seems strange that there are not one, but two entries on this list. To the nay-sayers, we offer up our justification: World Champion Yuuri Katsuki and his rink-mate Phichit Chulanont. 

What is it that’s so great about these two, you ask? We’re glad you did. Maybe it’s their cute traditions, like posting embarrassing photos of Katsuki following each of his wins. Or maybe it’s moments like these, where Katsuki and Chulanont can be seen embracing following Katsuki’s 2014 win at the Olympics. Or maybe it’s any of the many adorable pictures Chulanont has posted in his #sleepingkatsukiyuuri tag on Twitter. 

Whatever it is, we want more. 

\-- 

Skating with Yakov is different. There’s the content aspect, first and foremost, and the joy of having a coach that knows more than a YouTube tutorial, but there is also the community. Russia’s top skaters train with Yakov, train on the same ice as Victor, and it’s—surreal, really. 

He falls into step with Mila Babicheva very early on. She delights in his long hair and his white skates, and delights once more when she sees how quickly Victor is able to wind Yakov up. 

Following Mila comes her reluctant friend, Yuri. 

In a word, Yuri Plisetsky is bitter. He scowls at Victor’s jumps and he sneers at his step sequences. Mila keeps telling Victor that Yuri will eventually soften up, but it doesn’t seem to be happening at any notable rate. 

The year that Victor turns seventeen, things change. 

Katsuki Yuuri, Japanese skating _machine_ and Yuri’s arch-rival, sweeps all the events in his categories, and sets a couple of world records along the way. Victor watches it all happen from the audience, watches Katsuki Yuuri pile quads upon quads in a way that looks far more effortless than it could possibly be, and he thinks, _Yuri’s not going to win._

He’d googled Yuri within seconds of meeting him – and sometimes he has to stop and marvel at the fact that he doesn’t have to put effort into internet-stalking his friends, because _someone has already done it for him_ – and read all about the brilliant career that wasn’t quite brilliant enough. Katsuki Yuuri was mentioned again and again in those articles, but words on a screen don’t do him nearly enough justice. 

_I want to skate like that,_ Victor thinks. _I’m **going** to skate like that._

Two weeks later, he’s perfected his quad sal. Yakov stares at him from the side of the rink, but he doesn’t say anything, which is as close to approval as he gets. 

Winter melts into Spring and Spring melts into Summer, and Victor has become something of a permanent fixture at the rink. Mila jokes that she keeps expecting to find him sleeping there, and Victor very deliberately does not tell her that Yakov already has. Twice. 

Taylor Swift is on the radio near constantly, now, and it’s to a cheerful voice telling him to _shake it off_ , that Victor Nikiforov discovers sex. 

The first person he sleeps with leaves deep red scratches all down his back. It’s fun in the moment, the picture of the passion he was expecting, but he regrets it deeply when he fucks up a jump at practice and sends a lick of pain up his back when he thuds onto the ice. 

The second person he sleeps with smears chocolate over his face and licks it off. Victor doesn’t really get it, but he pretends to be into it, and wakes up suitably sticky. He doesn’t sleep with her again. 

The third person he sleeps with is a male hockey player – destined for the NHL, if you believe his bluster – and that, really, is Victor’s mistake. 

The sex is rough. Victor almost forgets what tenderness feels like, lost in a heady rush of lust as he is tugged about by his hair and called names. He’s into it, almost embarrassingly into it, and Taylor Swift warbles on in the background— 

“Turn that shit off.” 

Victor turns it off. 

It’s not really a relationship. It’s just a lot of sex and a lot of “if you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you” – Victor takes neither the threats or nor the secrecy as seriously as he perhaps should. 

He doesn’t remember at which point he discovers that his fuck buddy is Mila’s boyfriend. He just remembers falling in practice, again and again, and feeling sick when Taylor Swift comes on the radio. He remembers not being able to look Mila in the eye for a month. 

He remembers feeling like he hates himself. 

And he remembers deciding to run away. 

\-- 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
Showering in @WayneStateU’s dorms is like the final sudden death round of Shampoo or Semen 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
@phikachulanont I mean there are only two rules to showering in the dorms and whoever came before me has broken both of them. 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
@phikachulanont First: if you’re going to jerk one off, wash your spunk away afterwards. Second: don’t jerk off. It clogs the drains. 

**PENGUINS** @lovemesomepenguins  
@phikachulanont “came before me” I see what you did there 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
@lovemesomepenguins ;) 

\-- 

_katsuki_yu sent phichit+chu a link_

**katsuki_yu** tweets like this are why your sponsors weep every time they get a notification that you’ve posted something 

**phichit+chu** ill have u kno that i have the most followers of any competitive figure skater 

**phichit+chu** the masses have spoken yuuri 

**phichit+chu** i am a fucking gift 

**katsuki_yu** I particularly like the part where you tag our uni’s official twitter 

**katsuki_yu** I feel like that’s going to earn you a lot of friends 

**phichit+chu** i. am. a. fucking. gift. 

**katsuki_yu** haha you’re something that’s for sure 

**phichit+chu** anyway why are you lecturing me chris is the one who favourited and retweeted all of that convo 

**katsuki_yu** yeah but it’s chris 

**phichit+chu** … 

**phichit+chu** point 

\-- 

Yuuri stares at the ceiling of his dorm room, squinting through the darkness at the fuzzy shapes on his ceiling. Back in his freshman year, Phichit painstakingly stuck constellations of glow in the dark stars to their ceiling, and has since redone the display in each room they’ve moved to. It’s wasted on Yuuri, who can only make out a blur of not-quite-black. 

Across the room from him, Phichit is sleeping, hand still cradled around his phone. He’ll probably have to charge it during practice tomorrow. 

...Practice. 

Yuuri sighs. 

Tomorrow would have been Yuuri’s first practice since worlds, taking into account the three day break that Celestino likes to give him after competition season ends. He still hasn’t decided whether or not he’s going to turn up. 

Just thinking of getting back on the ice, of facing Celestino for their long-awaited “talk” makes shame and fear coil in Yuuri’s stomach. He squeezes his eyes, refusing to cry about this _yet again_ , because in amongst all the support he has received, Yuuri is the only one that can be counted on not to indulge his ridiculous emotional weakness. 

Yuuri looks sideways to Phichit. He briefly considers waking his roommate up, but cringes when he remembers the smouldering anger in Phichit’s eyes: _never do anything like that again._

Right. He’s on his own. That’s okay. 

Just him and… 

… _the ice._

\-- 

Yuuri is one of only three students on campus who have copies of keys to the rink. The other two are the captains of the hockey teams – the women’s and the men’s respectively. He puts the key in the lock and twists, then frowns. 

It’s already unlocked. 

He racks his brains, but he can’t remember any sort of social being planned by the hockey teams tonight. He learned to check early on in freshman year, when Yuuri’s midnight practice was interrupted by a group of half-naked almost-men running in for their team initiation. They’d all stopped dead when they saw him, and—suffice to say, just the memory of it is enough to make Yuuri blush deep red. 

Shrugging, Yuuri makes his way into the building. 

Then he stops. 

Someone’s already here. That much is clear from the music blaring, but— 

Yuuri feels the blood drain from his face. That’s _his_ music. He skated to it less than a week ago, at worlds, for his short program. 

He runs. 

Who’s skating to his music? Why would they do that? _Are they doing it better than him?_

Yuuri bursts through the doors to the rink. 

A tiny figure traverses the ice, movements crisp, and—it’s _his_ program. Yuuri knows that step sequence better than anybody, because he choreographed it specifically to play to his exact strengths. He knows that lead up into that triple, because he practised it again and again and again until it felt natural with the music. He knows that little flick of the wrists, because it added to the artistry and Celestino thought it gave his narrative a little more interest. 

This is his program, the program that won him gold, and yet… 

_Is this what I look like when I skate?_ Yuuri wonders. 

It looks dead. 

Pathetic, almost, a half-hearted attempt at _real_ choreography. 

_How on earth did I win with this?_

Yuuri doesn’t realise the music has stopped until the skater turns around to look at him. Silver hair shines under the artificial light of the rink as blue eyes widen into the picture of surprise. 

There’s a scramble of skates across the ice. “Sorry,” the figure – boy? Freshman? – says, the word coming out slightly morphed due to an accent Yuuri can’t place. “I didn’t know the rink was booked. Let me just get out of here.” 

Then, the figure stops short, squinting at Yuuri. “Wait, are you—” 

Yuuri stares at the empty rink, then at the slim teenager in front of him. He sees the thinly veiled excitement, the admiration, and it makes him sick. 

Yuuri turns around and walks away. 


	2. ad augusta per angusta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Katsuki Yuuri's birthday, I tried to finish the chapter a bit earlier.
> 
> Unbeta'd, because I like to live on the edge.
> 
> (9-Dec-16) Changed Yuuri's SP score so that it was actually possible for his PCS to exceed his TES.  
> (28-Mar-17) Changed Yuuri's SP score once again so that it is mathematically possible to acheive with his elements. (Thanks Lee!)

**The Grand Prix Final Wrap Up Post (Men’s Senior Division Part 2): YURI KATSUKI, This Season’s Dark Horse  
** from bitchesonskates, written by jennagem, first posted December 12 2011 

Most of you will have seen some of our  discussion posts from earlier in the season. There was a lot of talk surrounding potential contenders for the podium at the GPF, and Katie and I had a lot of fun speculating on who was going to nab those top three spots. We talked at length about Yuri Plisetsky, who missed out on gold last year by just 0.7 points, and about Georgi Popovich, the defending champion who many speculate will age out of competing soon. 

Well, on that front, the results were mostly expected: both Popovich and Plisetsky made the podium. It’s not them that everyone’s talking about, though. That would Yuuri Katsuki, a Japanese skater who literally came out of nowhere to claim silver. 

A quick google search doesn’t turn up much about Katsuki, apart from his recent medal. That’s because at 17 years old, Katsuki’s career to date is probably best described as lukewarm. Before this year’s GPF, he had never medalled at either an international or a national level before. He qualified for the GPF with the lowest score out of the six finalists, scraping in with two bronzes (in the Cup of China and the NHK Trophy, respectively). 

I’ll be honest: I wasn’t expecting much out of Katsuki. Men’s figure skating these days tends to be very quad heavy, and of his one quad (a quad toe) Katsuki had landed approximately none of them in competition. My eyebrows were in my hairline when I checked the short program scores during my lunchbreak at school. Katsuki came out of nowhere and seated himself comfortably at the top of the leaderboard, with 98.76 points. He was more than five points clear of his closest competitor. 

That’s crazy. I didn’t understand any of what was going on, until I finally got around to watching Katsuki’s previous two appearances and then his short program at the GPF. 

I mentioned above that men’s figure skating tends to be very quad heavy these days. This is, in part, a reactionary move against the idea that figure skating is an inherently feminine sport, and that’s a whole can of worms that I’m not going to get into right now. The thing is, with how focused men’s figure skating tends to be on jumps, it’s very easy to put your spot-a-quad hat on when you watch programs on the TV. Katsuki’s skating, however, doesn’t focus on jumps. I did some research to confirm this and Katsuki’s TES has never exceeded his PCS. Ever. 

Katsuki is the sort of skater that is very rarely seen at the top of men’s figure skating these days: one who focuses on artistry. He has beautiful step sequences and some of the most perfect spins I have ever seen. His triple loop seems to be his best jump, and is very clean. Above that, he has phenomenal stamina – his short program packed the second half with his most challenging jumps, allowing him to net such a high score. 

Katsuki’s performance at the free skate was less choke-on-your-own-spit awe-inspiring, but still solid enough to hold down Yuri Plisetsky and earn silver. His total score was 283.97, and much like Pliestsky in 2010, less than a point under Popovich’s. 

Katsuki Yuuri’s showing at the GPF was nothing short of breath-taking. It was the sort of skating that inspires others to join the sport. I can guarantee you right now that there is a legion of tiny Japanese boys tugging at their parents sleeves and asking for a pair of skates for their next birthday. It almost made me want to crack out my dusty old skates and try a double axel for old times’ sakes, busted knee or no. 

What did you think of Katsuki Yuuri’s programs? Do you think he’ll be able to edge out Popovich at Worlds? Was this all just beginner’s luck? 

Leave your comments below! 

Read all comments (286)

\-- 

Victor walks in to find Karen in her underwear, eating a grilled cheese sandwich and smearing her greasy fingers over a library-issued textbook. Florence + The Machine blares loudly in the background, heavy drum beats almost shaking the floor with their vibrations, and Victor reflects for a moment on how much her neighbours must hate her. 

She doesn’t notice him enter until he’s crossed the lounge floor and switched the music off. 

She balances the sandwich on her bare knee. “Hey,” she says. “Good skate?” 

“You disgust me,” Victor says flatly. 

“Just because you like to exist in a little hashtag-aesthetic bubble of hipster blogging, doesn’t mean I have to as well,” Karen says. She takes a pointed bite of her sandwich. “Mm, delicious.” 

Victor looks away from her as a crumb drops down her ill-fitting bra and she pauses to fish it out. “You didn’t mention that someone else had booked the rink.” 

Karen snorts. “I can guarantee you that no-one had booked the rink. I had to give you the key for a reason. What land do you come from where it’s considered normal to schedule practices for midnight? Oh, wait,” she puts on a vaguely offending facsimile of a Slavic accent, “Mother Russia.” 

“If you’re the picture of a typical American, I can assure you, Russia is much preferable.” 

“Look, you probably just ran into Yuuri,” Karen says. “He’s a decent guy, though, so it’s not like he would have turfed you out of the rink.” 

_Yuuri._ The name sends a thrill through Victor, which he quashes with prejudice. He watches Karen’s face closely for any clues. “Yuuri?” 

Karen’s face doesn’t really give anything away. “Yeah, Yuuri K-something.” She licks her fingers clean and dog-ears the page in her book. “He’s a figure skater here, and one of the other two people who have a key to the rink. Last I heard he had some sort of competition out of town, but I guess he’s back from that. I’ll have to ask him how he did next time I see him.” 

He almost can’t believe it. It fits. Just to confirm he says, “Yuuri Katsuki?” 

“That’s it.” Karen side-eyes him. “You two know each other?” 

Victor opens his mouth to say something, but can’t get the words to form. He doesn’t know what to focus on. What comes out is, “Are you fucking with me?” 

Karen looks taken aback. 

“Do you—no, clearly you don’t,” Victor’s English is losing a lot of its fluency, the words becoming bitty as he fails to articulate his exact thoughts. “I saw Yuuri Katsuki skate in February last year. At the Olympics. Where he _won_.” 

Karen blinks. 

“Gold, in case that wasn’t clear. That ‘out of town’ competition was probably the World Championships, which he also won, by the way—how do you go to university alongside one of the greatest skaters in history, interact with him on a regular basis, and just—not—know?” 

Karen stares at him. “Dude,” she says. “Chill.” 

Victor deflates. 

“That’s cool about Yuuri, though,” she goes on, turning back to her book. “I’ll have to buy him a beer sometime. Maybe get him to do a keg-stand.” 

There is a limit to the bullshit that Victor can handle in one day, and Karen was in the red five minutes ago. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, then crosses the lounge to his temporary bedroom. 

As soon as he has closed the door, he hears the boom of Karen’s music start back up. 

Victor hates her so much. 

\-- 

**phichit+chu** okay, i will admit, that one was a mistake 

**katsuki_yu** you think? 

**phichit+chu** look i had no idea she was going to get drunk and cry on u, ok 

**phichit+chu** what was that even about anyway? 

**katsuki_yu** her boyfriend cheated on her with a skinny blond skank 

**katsuki_yu** her words, not mine 

**katsuki_yu** which probably would have been fine on its own but also her cat got run over earlier in the day 

**katsuki_yu** she was very upset 

**phichit+chu** i… 

**phichit+chu** wow 

**phichit+chu** well the good news is that this is the first date that uve been on that hasnt tanked bc of smthg u did 

**phichit+chu** so, progress? 

**katsuki_yu** sure, let’s call it that 

**phichit+chu** what abt the other date i set u up on? 

**phichit+chu** that one went ok right? 

**katsuki_yu** she spent the entire date telling me that I was wasting my talent and I should be ashamed of myself 

**phichit+chu** ah 

**katsuki_yu** so I guess we could call that equal parts my fault and hers that the date failed 

**phichit+chu** this is just… depressing dude 

**phichi+chu** like a sign from the universe that u should remain single idk 

**phichit+chu** maybe i should talk to the astronomy club 

**phichit+chu** ur a sagittarius right 

**katsuki_yu** I’m not sure which one is more impressive 

**katsuki_yu** that you know that 

**katsuki_yu** or that you can spell it 

**katsuki_yu** I’m going to go with the spelling 

**phichit+chu** which crazy kid scored a 114 on his toefl? 

**phichit+chu** ur damn right it was this one 

**katsuki_yu** yeah but I’m 90% certain you only know the signs because of tumblr 

**phichit+chu** hey if it works it works 

**katsuki_yu** not sure if that’s exactly the sentiment physics students are meant to express 

**phichit+chu** shows what u kno 

**phichit+chu** ‘if it works it works’ is like 80% of a physics degree 

**phichit+chu** the other 20% is knowing that when smthg says it was derived experimentally it means trial and error 

**katsuki_yu** not sure you should be spilling your secrets like this 

**phichit+chu** oh shit ur right 

**phichit+chu** how do u delete chat logs on this app? 

**katsuki_yu** it’s too late now, phichit 

**katsuki_yu** the nsa are always watching 

**phichit+chu** haha dude if some poor nsa nerd in a box has had to read through all of our convos i think he deserves to arrest me 

**phichit+chu** just like, on a basis of justice for his sanity 

**katsuki_yu** that’s fair 

**katsuki_yu** I’d arrest you too, given the chance 

**phichit+chu** RUDE. 

\-- 

Yuuri sighs, putting his phone down on the table next to him and taking a sip of his water. His lunch, a cafeteria-bought rice salad, looks as unappealing now as it did thirty minutes ago. Technically, with his season off, he doesn’t have to watch his weight so closely anymore. He’d spent several minutes staring at the more calorific options available before the instinctual guilt had eaten away at him and he’d selected this—thing. 

Normally, he uses the dorm kitchen to put together his lunch. It’s the easiest way to control his diet, and there’s a Korean Market on campus that stocks food from Japan as well. Last night, however, some of his and Phichit’s dorm-mates had raided the kitchen’s fridge whilst utterly shitfaced, leaving nothing but an out-of-date yoghurt behind. 

So, disgusting rice salad it is. 

Maybe it won’t be so terrible. 

Yuuri takes a bite of it. 

Nope, no, it definitely is. 

“Katsuki, heads up!” 

Yuuri turns his face towards the sound of the shout just in time to get smacked straight in the face with a hard cup of something. 

There’s a horrified gasp. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I thought you’d catch it.” 

Yuuri takes off his glasses to touch the bridge of his nose, feeling for broken skin. When he looks up, it’s to the sight of a blurry figure with bright pink hair. His brain stutters to catch up, before the pieces slot into place. 

Not hair. A hijab. “It’s fine, Minnah.” 

“I just hit you in the face with a cup of instant ramen!” Minnah says. “This is not okay – what if I damaged your eyes, or something?” 

Satisfied that he’s relatively uninjured, Yuuri puts his glasses back on. Minnah comes into focus, and she’s making the exact face that he expected her to be – a combination of both mortification and concern. 

“I just thought you looked so miserable with your rice thing and I had some ramen in my bag, in case of emergency all-nighters, and so I just—” she winces, “—threw it.” 

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says once again. 

“I really am sorry,” Minnah says. “I swear I didn’t come over here just to throw things at you. I actually wanted to tell you that I watched your performance at Worlds. It was,” a light blush coats her cheeks, “honestly stunning. I almost couldn’t believe it was my music you were skating to.” 

Yuuri looks down at his food and briefly considers taking a bite so that he will have an excuse not to talk. “Thanks,” he says, deeply uncomfortable. “For the music, as well as the congratulations.” 

“Oh no, it was no trouble at all,” she says, shaking her head. “Any time you need something composed, just send me a message. You’re the best thing to happen to my downloads since, well, ever.” 

He can’t meet her eyes. “You deserve it.” 

Minnah laughs. It’s a very pleasant sound. “I’m not so sure about that,” she says, “but I’ll take the compliment.” 

Yuuri smiles, and he knows it looks as awkward as he feels. 

“Anyway,” Minnah says, “I was just stopping by to say hi. I have studio time booked, so I need to go. I really am sorry about the—instant ramen thing.” 

“See you around,” Yuuri says. 

He watches her leave and tries not to feel horrified with how he acted in that conversation. He was stilted and awkward, and he should have been _nicer,_ more genuine, because Minnah has been a staple to nearly all of his recent programs— 

“Hey, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri jumps. 

Phichit is sat in the seat opposite him, the cup of instant ramen that was lying on the floor just moments ago sitting in front of him. “You were spacing out,” Phichit helpfully informs him. 

Yuuri inhales, then exhales. “When did you get here?” 

“Just in time to see you stumble through yet another meet-cute scenario with Minnah,” Phichit says, reaching across the table for Yuuri’s apple. Yuuri slaps his hand away. “Tell me again why you two aren’t dating?” 

Yuuri looks down at his rice salad. He doesn’t say anything. 

“It’s too bad I already used up my Yuuri date allowance for this year,” Phichit sighs. 

“Did you need something, Phichit?” 

Yuuri almost winces. That was rude. Really, really rude. And sort of dismissive. 

Phichit doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah, actually,” he says. “Come by the rink with me after lectures.” 

Yuuri stares at him, but he can’t read Phichit’s face beyond his usual cheerful smile. He clenches his hands into fists beneath the table. 

“You can’t avoid Ciao Ciao forever,” Phichit points out, far too reasonably, “and he’s getting, like, super worried. He keeps doing that awkward third-party check-up thing via me. It’s all ‘is he eating’ and ‘is he sick’ and ‘please tell me he’s not hiding under his covers for a solid week again’.” 

Yuuri feels the guilt unfurl yet again in his chest. _Useless,_ he thinks at himself. _Useless and selfish._

“Hey,” Phichit says. “Yuuri.” 

Yuuri forces himself to look up. 

“It won’t be nearly as bad as you’re thinking it will be,” Phichit says. “Ciao Ciao just wants you to do what’s best for you.” 

That’s the thing, though: is this what is best of him? He _loves_ figure skating. There is nothing better for him than the feeling that comes when the music starts and he begins to move. Competing has even been fun sometimes – during his senior debut, when it could all be written off as a fluke, right up until he won silver and— 

Yuuri inhales. “Okay,” he says. 

“Okay?” Phichit asks. 

“Okay, I’ll come.” 

Phichit grins. Then, he picks up his phone. “Celebratory selfie!” 

Yuuri can’t help the laughter that forces itself out of his mouth. 

\-- 

Celestino didn’t go to Hasetsu looking to sign Yuuri Katsuki as a student. 

He went to Hasetsu because it was a discount destination on his travel agent’s website, and he and his then-girlfriend didn’t really need anything more than a relatively nice hotel somewhere foreign to spend the week having increasingly wild sex in. Then, his girlfriend dumped him and Celestino was too cheap to let his planned vacation go to waste. 

He’s never told Yuuri that. Celestino isn’t fond of the way it makes him sound tacky and vaguely pathetic and Yuuri probably wouldn’t be fond of anything that mentions his firmly middle-aged coach getting it on between the sheets. 

Celestino ended up at the ice rink because there was nothing else to do in Hasetsu. He was wearing rented skates, dull-as-hell blades and all, and stretching in preparation for a couple of laps on the ice. 

Then, he saw Yuuri. 

Yuuri was a spot of black twirling on the ice in a tight, perfect combination spin. He rose out the movement, skated a few metres and then jumped. Celestino counted the rotations out of habit: one, two, three— _four?_

Then, Yuuri came crashing back down, skittering across the ice painfully. 

Celestino’s first thought was, _Why the hell is he attempting a jump he can’t land without his coach present?_

His second, _Damn, the kid almost had it._

That was a quad toe, or at least the start of one. It needed a lot of polish, but the base of the jump was there. 

The kid got up, dusted himself off, and skated into another jump. A triple lutz. Beautifully clean. Next came a step sequence, wicked fast but not a blade out of place, and another spin. It took until the next jump, a triple-double combination, for Celestino to realise that the kid was skating without music. 

_I could work with this,_ Celestino thought. 

Things have changed a great deal from then, from that crystallising moment in a beat-up ice rink in Kyushu. Yuuri is no longer the Junior Champion that never was, no longer the inconsistent skater fumbling quads, as his impressive competitive records will say on its own. He doesn’t grin when he nails a difficult element anymore, just nods, and moves on. 

Celestino doesn’t really think he has any right to feel surprised about Yuuri’s breakdown the night before his free skate at Worlds. 

“Thanks, Phichit,” Celestino says. 

Yuuri is skating slowly around the edge of the rink, drifting more than anything else. He’s physically present, though, which is more than Celestino can say about the past ten days. 

Phichit watches Yuuri, brows knit. “No problem, coach.” Phichit doesn’t really sound satisfied. Celestino doubts he is. 

Yuuri begins to pick up speed, then launches himself into a quad sal. He lands, leg spinning out and around, and skates onwards. 

At its core, Celestino supposes that Yuuri’s skating style has remained the same in most ways. He still has his signature gift for musical interpretation, but he no longer earns most of his points for his program components. 

Celestino exhales through his nose. “Enough about Yuuri,” he says to Phichit. “Let’s get back to work on your triple loop. You’ve been nailing it in practice, but it’s faltering in competitions.” 

Phichit casts one last look at Yuuri, and then nods. 

\-- 

“You know,” Celestino says from behind Yuuri, “I half expected you to bolt the moment you got off the ice.” 

Yuuri looks up at his coach (ex-coach?) and brings his knees down from his chest, revealing his shoe-less feet. “Phichit stole my trainers.” 

Celestino sighs. “That kid, I swear.” 

“He says he’ll run back to the rink with them when you text him that we’re done.” Yuuri slackens his grip on his phone, remembering the forcedly cheery tone of Phichit’s message. There was an underlying tone of _this is for your own good_ and Yuuri’s torn between resenting Phichit for being right and being thankful for making him do this. 

Celestino sighs again, and drops down onto the floor of the rink lobby next to him. “I’m not angry, Yuuri.” 

“You said that already.” 

“Because I’m not angry,” Celestino repeats. “In fact, I’m angrier at myself than I am at you. I’m not entirely sure that I was right to recommend the possibility of medication.” 

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, but he knows that’s not true. He’s a mess on the meds; off them, he’d be twice as bad. 

“Have you considered counselling?” 

Yuuri has considered everything that might stop him from being such an incontrovertible disappointment. He just doesn’t see any of it working. “I don’t want to do counselling.” 

“Okay,” Celestino says. “Now that you’re taking a season out, do you want to consider coming off your medication?” 

“No.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sorry, Celestino.” 

Yuuri is sorry for so much. He’s sorry for his choreography, he’s sorry for his skating, and he’s sorry for his stupid brain that won’t work right. Mostly, he’s sorry for what Celestino had to see the night before his free skate. 

“Just take care of yourself,” Celestino says. “And come by the rink to skate as often as you like. Phichit works better when he has you to play off.” 

Yuuri isn’t entirely sure whether or not that’s the full truth, or if Celestino is just harbouring a secret hope that Yuuri will change his mind in time to put together a program for the Grand Prix. 

“I’ll text Phichit now,” Celestino says, pushing up off the floor. “And Yuuri?” 

Yuuri looks up. 

“I’m glad you came by to talk.” 

Yuuri smiles at that, and it may be small, but it is genuine. 

\-- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, pretending like I know anything about figure skating. Feel free to call me out on my bullshit whenever. ( _Please_ call me out on my bullshit. I don't want to stick my foot in my mouth.)
> 
> Also: a few points that I probably should have mentioned in the first chapter. The chapter titles are all latin -- the first, "victoria crescit concordia" basically means "victory grows in/comes from harmony". This chapter's is "ad augusta per angusta" and that basically means "to a high position through hardships". Pretty sure it's idiomatic because "augusta" was the title given to the wives of roman emperors. *shrugs*
> 
> Hopefully more Victor next chapter.


	3. esse quam videri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "esse quam videri" -- to be as opposed to appear
> 
> unbeta'd like a boss

**phichit+chu** yuuri help 

**phichit+chu** im writing a lab report and i want to scream 

**phichit+chu** the fucks i do not give about materials science could repopulate post-apocalyptic earth 

**phichit+chu** why why why did i take this class 

**katsuki_yu** wait I know the answer to this 

**katsuki_yu** one moment 

**katsuki_yu** “idgaf abt mat sci but easy a ya get me?” chulanont, p. (august 2014) social media message 

**phichit+chu** ugh past phichit how could you 

**phichit+chu** i want to skaaaaaaaaaaaate 

**katsuki_yu** go skate then 

**phichit+chu** cant 

**phichit+chu** ciao ciao banned me from the rink outside of practices until i get this report done 

**katsuki_yu** I know that the powers of celestino are many and varied by he doesn’t actually live at the rink 

**katsuki_yu** he won’t know 

**phichit+chu** HE ALWAYS KNOWS 

**katsuki_yu** sorry let me correct that 

**katsuki_yu** he won’t know if you don’t tweet about skiving off your hw to skate 

**phichit+chu** wait wait wait 

**phichit+chu** are u saying i get busted each time bc he follows me on twitter? 

**katsuki_yu** uh yeah 

**katsuki_yu** he got an account sometime last year 

**katsuki_yu** it’s kinda adorable actually he only follows like 10 people and all of them are skaters or coaches 

**katsuki_yu** or beyonce 

**phichit+chu** why did u never tell me this b4 

**katsuki_yu** I thought you knew??? 

**katsuki_yu** he’s not subtle phichit 

**katsuki_yu** his handle is @coach_celestino 

**katsuki_yu** this isn’t high level decryption 

**katsuki_yu** phichit u there? 

**phichit+chu** sorry i cant hear u above the sounds of ur rampant betrayal 

**katsuki_yu** go do your report 

**phichit+chu** cant. too betrayed 

**katsuki_yu** go do your report and when I get out of class this afternoon I’ll go skating with you before the hockey team start their evening practice 

**katsuki_yu** we can even stay a bit later and say mean things about them when they’re warming up if you want 

**katsuki_yu** “no toe pick, what barbarians” – a sample 

**phichit+chu** :O 

**katsuki_yu** deal? 

**phichit+chu** cant talk gotta go plot a graph 

**katsuki_yu** I’ll take that as a yes :) 

\-- 

Phichit is the kind of person whose Starbucks order is closer to a paragraph than a sentence. He reels it off with a straight face each time, and Yuuri has gotten far too used to watching the barista’s face contort as they realise what they will have to make. He has one of his sweet-enough-to-give-you-diabetes coffees with him right now, and is absentmindedly prodding at the whipped cream with a wooden stirrer. 

Yuuri turns away from him and focuses on the rink below them. The men’s hockey team are darting across the ice, running drills and slapping each other on the back at regular intervals. “Phichit,” Yuuri says, eyes not leaving the practice, “would you ever lie to me to spare my feelings?” 

Phichit pauses with his cup halfway to his mouth. “What?” He frowns at Yuuri. “What brought this on?” 

“Just thinking.” 

“Yuuri, have I ever given you cause to believe that I possess nearly enough tact to do that?” Phichit asks. “I mean, a staple of our friendship is me making fun of you for being awful at dating.” 

Yuuri grimaces. “That’s different.” 

“How?” 

Yuuri almost says, _Because I don’t care about that,_ before he remembers that he’s never vocalised his disinterest in romance and sex to Phichit, beyond his token protests each time he’s sent on a blind date. “It just is,” he says. 

It’s easy to see the cogs turning in Phichit’s head. “Did you read something online?” 

“Forget it.” 

“This is about your skating, though, isn’t it?” 

“Phichit, just drop it.” 

“Yuuri, you’re a phenomenal skater,” Phichit says, “and the world agrees with me. Watching you skate is an exercise in envy and lost self-esteem – you make it all look effortless.” 

“Phichit.” 

“And I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that,” Phichit says. “You know me better than to truly believe I’d do that.” 

“Phichit,” Yuuri says, “I was just being dumb, okay? Let it lie.” 

Phichit gives Yuuri a narrow-eyed look, but he sighs and turns back to his coffee. “Ciao Ciao wants me to tell you that you have another stack of fan-mail.” 

Yuuri grimaces. 

Phichit laughs. “Universal adoration is so wasted on you, you know?” 

Yuuri ends up shoving Phichit hard enough to knock his cup of coffee over his shoes. 

\-- 

Throughout high school, Yuuri had a reputation for being an incorrigible loner. It was something of a self-fulfilling prophecy: no-one approached him because they all thought he was a friendless weirdo, and because no-one approached him Yuuri remained mostly friendless. Yuuri wasn’t really all that bothered at the time. More often than not, he was at the rink, and when he wasn’t skating, he was studying, because he wanted to graduate with at the very least borderline respectable grades. 

Third year added a new time drain in the form of training for the Grand Prix with Celestino. It was meant to be the swan song of his skating career – one final, epic send off, before he knuckled down and started his real career. Silver at the GPF changed everything. 

Bewildered would probably be the best way to describe how he felt back then. Somehow, rumour got around the skating community that he was intending to retire, which is how Yuuri ended up with Georgi Popovich knocking on his hotel door the night before the exhibition skate, more than a little tipsy and still wearing his gold medal. 

“You shouldn’t retire just yet,” Georgi told him, swaying on his feet. “You, you were good. That was good skating. Im-impassioned.” 

Yuuri just stared. 

Chris contacted him the next day, sending him a wordy text message laden with innuendo that made him vaguely uncomfortable. Reporters spoke to him of wasted potential, smilingly proclaiming him Japan’s new hope. He was cornered on the train on the way back to Hasetsu by a local who wanted to shake his hand, and she told him very earnestly that he couldn’t give up now. 

Meanwhile, Celestino was very obviously silent. 

The night of his homecoming, he ate katsudon with his family and thought of all the people to whom he owed success. 

Sometimes he thinks back on that time, and desperately wonders what would have happened if he had been brave enough to quit. Where would he be, now? Graduated, with a job, or embittered and stifled? The only thing he’s ever sure of is that he wouldn’t be jacked up on pills every hour of the day. 

He remembers most clearly feeling uncomfortable all the time. With his silver medal came schoolwide popularity – eyes on him everywhere he went, people trying to talk to him, trying to touch him, asking to watch him skate. Yuuri remembers feeling like his skin didn’t fit right, like a thousand bugs were crawling beneath it, like there was nothing keeping him from losing it. 

He bombed that years’ Nationals. Didn’t even make it to Worlds, but watched it unfold on television in front of him, because he felt like he needed to punish himself for his failure. 

That year, Yuri Plisetsky won his first, and only, gold medal. 

It’s weird to look back on those days now, and to remember that he used to think that everything he was feeling was normal. Yuuri figures that that kind of self-centred deductive logic must be common in teenagers, and it was just his luck that he got the shitty, self-punishing instincts, as opposed to the wild, self-confident ones. 

America had felt like a dream when it was offered, and his meds like the best kind of deus ex machina. Then Phichit came barrelling into Yuuri’s life, and everything started to fall into place. 

Silver at the 2012 GPF. Gold at the 2013 Worlds. Gold, gold, gold – in the GPF, in the Olympics, at Worlds. Stupid blind dates at the hand of Phichit, and more selfies than he can count. Glow in the dark constellations on his dorm ceiling and half-incoherent rants about astrophysics on the plane back from competitions abroad. He never visits home, but he can tell when he calls his parents that they’re so, so relieved that America let him live. 

“Just take care of yourself,” Celestino told him, as if Yuuri had any fucking clue how he was meant to do that. 

“Never do anything like that ever again,” Phichit said, and it was one of the rare times that he wasn’t smiling. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” asked his mother, and Yuuri didn’t really have an answer to give that she would be pleased to hear. 

“I started skating because of you!” the fan letter in his hands says, written in such hesitant kanji that Yuuri easily deduces it comes from someone young. 

He doesn’t answer fan mail personally; in fact, he rarely answers them at all. All of it feels oddly invasive, a thousand different statements of the kind of person he has to be. An inspiration. A role model. A representative. 

If pushed (read: lectured by Celestino) he’ll send back a signed picture with a generic message. _Keep skating!_ Or, _Good luck!_ Or, _You can do it!_

Yuuri puts down the letter in front of him and looks to the stacks beside him. A sudden, destructive impulse strikes him and he knocks the pile straight into the recycling bin by his desk. 

Then, guiltily, he fishes every last one back out. 

\-- 

**phichit+chu** so r there ny nudes in this set 

**katsuki_yu** if there are I haven’t found any yet 

**katsuki_yu** and just so we’re clear, if you sent me a nude as a joke, I will use it to asphyxiate you 

**phichit+chu** u wish u had a permanent reminder of the glory of my naked body 

**phichit+chu** if only so u can ritualistically burn it in ur quest to be a spinster 

**katsuki_yu** aren’t spinsters female? 

**phichit+chu** yh but the male form is bachelor and that sounds kinda cool like ud be goin out and being all studly and shit 

**phichit+chu** which is not the sentiment i am after 

**phichit+chu** besides fuck gender roles 

**phichit+chu** r u ok u havnt sent nything for like five minutes 

**katsuki_yu** I hate you so much 

**phichit+chu** ahahahahaha 

**phichit+chu** first nude i take it 

**phichit+chu** we could make this into a drinking game 

**phichit+chu** or we would if i ws prepared to take care of ur unconscious ass after one shot 

**phichit+chu** what do u even do with the photographs 

**phichit+chu** what do ppl expect from this 

**phichit+chu** r u supposed to like keep a folder of them to peruse each time u want to jerk off 

**katsuki_yu** I normally just shred them 

**katsuki_yu** keeping them runs the risk that someone else might see them 

**katsuki_yu** and the ppl sending me photos haven’t consented to anyone but me seeing them 

**katsuki_yu** but still 

**katsuki_yu** why do people do this 

**phichit+chu** eligible bachelor i keep telling u 

**katsuki_yu** but srsly 

**phichit+chu** idk personally i have never been struck with the urge to send a stranger a naked pic 

**phichit+chu** but if i ever do ill let u kno 

**katsuki_yu** pls don’t 

**katsuki_yu** and don’t think I didn’t notice the qualifier in that sentence 

**katsuki_yu** “a stranger” 

**katsuki_yu** pls don’t get caught in a sex scandal celestino will kill you 

**phichit+chu** ah ciao ciao was young once 

**phichit+chu** but don’t worry ive decided not to risk risqué pics until im retired 

**phichit+chu** say that three times fast 

**phichit+chu** conquer those r’s 

**katsuki_yu** now that’s just cruel 

**phichit+chu** sorry i cant hear u above my 114 on the toefl 

**katsuki_yu** sorry but I can’t hear you either above the sound of my six gold medals 

**phichit+chu** yh but look where it got u 

**phichit+chu** its saturday night 

**phichit+chu** everyone is out having a good time 

**phichit+chu** except u bc ur staying in to reply to fanmail 

**katsuki_yu** speaking of 

**katsuki_yu** nude count: 2 

**phichit+chu** ur fans r wild yuuri 

**katsuki_yu** you’re telling me 

\-- 

For all he didn’t socialise much with his age group, Victor watched a lot of movies during his time in Russia. It was one of the easiest ways to get his English up to scratch – as accented as it remains – and Yuri had a fondness for American teen movies that he would have sooner died than admit to. What Victor means to say is: he knows the concept of the walk of shame. 

That said, he’s expecting something… more than what he gets. 

So far as movies are concerned, Victor is supposed to emerge from a man’s room with sex hair, smudged make-up, and his heels carried in one hand. And maybe a limp. As it is, he has the sex hair down and that’s about it. He guesses there’s also supposed to be some sort of self-flagellation going on for daring to sully his now-less-than-pure body, but he mostly just feels smug. 

The guy Victor slept with? He seduced him right out of Karen’s hands. 

It’s the best kind of revenge for the bullshit she’s spent the past week putting him through, especially as he knows that Karen bet one of her teammates that she would be the one going home with Tall, Dark, and Drop-Dead Gorgeous. 

He fishes out his phone to reread the angry texts she sent him last night – all variants on the theme of _you asshole_ – and then stops. He has three missed calls. All from Yuri. 

Ah, shit. 

Victor grimaces, then hits the button to call him back. 

Yuri picks up immediately. “Victor, where the hell are you?” 

Victor has almost missed the sound of his mother tongue, even spat down the phone in Yuri’s grating voice. “Yuri!” he replies, deliberately ignoring the question. “How nice of you to call!” 

“Victor, I swear I will reach through the phone and strangle you if you don’t stop dicking around,” Yuri replies. “Where the fuck are you?” 

“I’m on holiday,” Victor says. “Taking some time off, seeing the world, growing up.” 

“Enough with the bullshit!” Yuri spits. “I know you’re not on holiday. You severed your contract with Yakov.” 

“It’s a long holiday.” 

“Victor, you piece of shit—” And then Victor stops listening, because Yuri is far too angry to say much of substance. He holds the phone away from his ear, cheerfully dropping down the stairs to the ground floor of the dorms. 

He puts the phone back to his ear, just in time to catch, “—you understand me?” 

“Sure,” Victor says. 

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Then, “You didn’t listen to anything I just said, did you?” It’s a growl. 

“Nope,” Victor agrees. 

Yuri launches into another string of profanity, and this time, Victor just hangs up instead of listening to it. Bare seconds later, Yuri tries to call again, but Victor rejects it and puts his phone onto aeroplane mode. He can deal with Yuri when he’s feeling less like he just got robbed of his morning-after-glow. Besides, after about two hours, Yuri will probably get the hint and stop calling. 

He doesn’t want to think about Russia and the mess he left behind there, even as much as he misses parts of it. He doesn’t want to think in terms of running away, or Yakov’s disappointment when he asked to be let go – the feeling that no matter what he did, it would never be enough to return to the fold. 

_What a waste,_ he catches himself thinking. _All that potential and you let it go because you were scared._

Yuri is right to be pissed. Victor wouldn’t be, if he were in the same position, but then again, the core of Yuri and Victor’s friendship has always been in their differences. 

When he gets back to Karen’s, he doesn’t check to see if she’s awake before he picks up his skates and grabs her rink keys. He can’t skate yet, not until late at night when the rink is empty, but for now, having them with him allows him the illusion of some semblance of plan. 

Some hint that he hasn’t given up, not quite yet. 

\-- 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont   
Jokes aside, sending someone unsolicited nudes is, at best, dubious, and at worst sexual harassment. Either way, not cool. 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont   
@phikachulanont This isn’t directed at one specific gender. Sexual harassment is sexual harassment regardless of the gender of the harasser. 

**Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont   
@phikachulanont Or, for that matter, the gender of the victim. Stay classy, people. Don’t be that asshole. 

**Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti   
@phikachulanont proving once again why he’s my second favourite male figure skater 

**Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti   
And to all my fans out there, consider this your notification that all future nudes are 100% solicited ;) 

\-- 

_katsuki_yu sent phichit+chu a link_

**katsuki_yu** thanks 

**phichit+chu** no problem 

\-- 

The first short program Yuuri ever skated in the senior division was titled “Among the Stars”. It made use of only one quad – his quad toe, as shaky as it had been back then – and remains the least technically difficult program he has ever medalled with. He and Celestino had choreographed it together, running through endless ideas and alterations until they were satisfied with it. 

It is a program crafted from blood, sweat, and tears, and then polished into something that Yuuri barely believed was him. 

He knows he wasn’t alone there. 

Yuuri has alternately loved and hated this program. He remembers dismissing it, when he made his comeback in 2012, and he remembers reading comments on how he barely seemed like the same skater when that season’s program was compared to this one. He remembers coming back to it, in shameful moments of weakness, when all he wanted was familiarity, even if that familiarity was not quite good enough. 

_This is where it started, Yuuri,_ he tells himself as the program music plays through earbuds in his ears. _This is where you began._

The musical cue passes, and he begins to skate. 

Every jump, every component is written into Yuuri’s muscles at their very base level. He follows the movements through, and lets it all flow through him. “Among the Stars” is a story of childhood dreams, of growing up and running forward, of _am I there yet? Am I good enough?_

It’s impatient and lonely, a little naïve and a lot apprehensive, but it hits Yuuri in the chest each time he skates it. _Almost there, just a little further now—_

And then it is already over. 

Yuuri finishes the program, breaths coming in heavy, arms held out in his final pose. 

Someone starts to clap. 

Yuuri’s breath turns to ice in his lungs. He drops his arms out of the pose and whirls around, looking desperately for his audience and sees— 

The silver-haired figure from the ice-rink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri takes paroxetine to treat his anxiety. Among other things, this medication doesn’t react well to alcohol – it apparently causes drowsiness. This is what Phichit is referencing when he says that Yuuri would be unconscious after one shot. 
> 
> Trying out a new summary. Lemme know what you all think.


	4. sic infit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "sic infit" = so it begins
> 
> I cannot tell you how badly it fucks me up that a character in YOI has my not-at-all-common-where-I-live name. I keep reading it in fics and it's always a trip.
> 
> (22-Dec-16) Changing dates to make things work better. Mainly in group chat.

**anonymous asked:** favourite fs program ever go

**chulanope answered**

oh god, you don’t make this easy for me, do you. aaaaahhhhh there are so many ones i love, but my favorite, favorite free skate probably has to be yuuri katsuki’s from the 2012-2013 season. (i know, i know, it’s not one of phichit’s, but i like to think that he would probably forgive me on this front, as he’s the sort of YK fan that puts all of us to shame.)

this was the program that won YK his first gold medal on an international scale (those were the days haha) and… i’ll be honest, when he skated it at worlds, i got chills.

[VIDEO]

the program was titled “fear” and was set to an original composition that YK had commissioned specifically for it. the first thing i remember thinking about the program when it was unveiled in the 2012 grand prix series was that it was extremely ambitious for YK and did not play to his strengths at all – before this, YK was known as being a very technically weak skater, who relied heavily on his program component score to score highly.

when YK skated this program at worlds, he made history: first skater to exceed 200 points for their free skate, first skater to exceed 300 points for their cumulative score, and first skater to successfully land three different quads in a competition program.

but that’s not even why i like it so much. you watch YK skate this program and it’s patently clear that he deserved gold – that’s not up for debate. what i like about it is the emotion you see from YK in his performance. it’s raw and personal and, yes, slightly angry – it’s not about fear as much as it is feeling like you should be fearless, but being unable to get there.

i had been a tentative fan of YK’s ever since his showing at the gpf the previous season, but this was the program that made me go, “god this kid really is something special, isn’t he?”

 **208 Notes**     source: chulanope    #figure skating #japanese sweetheart #yuuri katsuki #yk #gpf 2012 #worlds 2013 #asks

\--

Applause. Echoing. One set of claps.

Yuuri stumbles on his skates, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but on the ice. It all feels tainted, the solitude of the moment broken, and there’s a creeping shame staining his cheeks. No-one was supposed to see him skate that program like that. No-one was supposed to see him— _skate_.

Yuuri reaches the side of the rink and grabs his skate guards, jamming them onto his blades so fast he almost cuts open his thumb. His water bottle is thrown into his kit bag and he picks it up, prepared to walk out of there still wearing his boots—

“Wait!”

He jolts to a stop. His black skates stare back up at him as he looks down at his feet, fists clenching.

He turns around.

Up close, the exact features of the figure skater from before are clearer. The silver hair is just as striking in person as it was on the ice, but it frames a delicate complexion that betrays just how young the person Yuuri is facing is. Eighteen, tops. Maybe younger.

“Sorry, sorry,” the other skater says. He runs a hand through his fringe, lifting it momentarily out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend you, or anything, but you—you’re Yuuri Katsuki, aren’t you?”

Yuuri’s hands tug at the ends of his sleeves. He nods.

A wide grin stretches onto the other skater’s face. “I’m sorry to interrupt like that, but I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I saw you skate at Sochi last year. I’m Victor.”

Sochi. The Winter Olympics. Yuuri remembers that time in bits and pieces – Phichit hugging him when he won gold, Celestino rambling drunkenly at the gala following the exhibition skate about discount travel destinations, and his own shock at opening a skype window with his parents only to find the entirety of his neighbourhood crammed into the screen, congratulating him.

“Ah,” Yuuri says.

Victor’s smile dims slightly. “Do you skate here often?”

 _Not anymore,_ Yuuri thinks. “I…” He feels a stitch in the fabric of his top rip and abruptly drops the fabric from his grip. Victor doesn’t appear to notice. “I have to go,” Yuuri says. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh,” Victor says. “Sure.”

Walking away this time feels like cowardice. Yuuri ducks his head and pushes the shame away.

\--

Karen has a list of regrets in her life, and it starts and ends with agreeing to house a bratty skating prodigy from Russia for the last few months of the semester. Victor Nikiforov is the worst kind of uppity – the kind that strikes back.

She hears him come in from one of his late-night jaunts at the skate rink just as she’s putting the finishing touches on yet another prime slice of bullshit, or her paper for Intro to Poetry, as it most likely prefers to be known.

“Good day, Victor?” she asks. She’s mostly being sincere.

“Fine.”

Karen pauses. That’s not normal. She hits save on her paper and closes her laptop lid, then turns around to get a proper look at him.

Victor is frowning heavily as he fiddles with his bangs. His phone is in his hand, bright screen casting his face into a ghostly glow in the poorly lit room.

 _Oh good Lord,_ Karen thinks. _Teen angst._

Victor looks up. “Karen, where do students tend to eat lunch on campus?”

 _… Or not._ Karen scrunches her eyebrows together. “Depends on what they study, normally. Why do you ask?”

There’s a distinct pause before Victor locks his phone screen and slides the device into his back pocket. “I left my wallet behind in that guy’s room this morning. I went back to the room a couple of times but the door was locked and he didn’t answer. I think he’s avoiding me.”

Karen wouldn’t be surprised, because Victor looks a touch too much like jailbait for any decent guy to be all that comfortable with acknowledging him as a conquest – former or current. The hottie from last night had seemed mostly decent – right up until Victor decided to ply him with liquor, all the while matching him drink for drink. Damn Russians.

“So you’re planning on ambushing him at lunch?” Karen surmises.

“Sure.”

“Well, do you know his major, then?” she asks. “Or were you too busy grinding him to premature ejaculation to engage in small talk?”

“English literature.”

Karen shrugs. “Then he most likely eats lunch in ELG – the Eleanor Greene Building. It’s on the main campus. Look for a map.”

Victor grins.

\--

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
True friendship is walking 20 minutes across campus to meet your best friend for lunch each day.

 **Minnah** @aceofbass71  
@phikachulanont pls you know it’s just bc the food in the phys dept sucks worse

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
@aceofbass71 Maybe the real true friendship was the cooking #YuuriKatsuki did along the way :P #GetYourselfAManThatCanDoBoth

\--

Whenever Yuuri is competing, Celestino puts him on media blackout between his short program and free skate. He surrenders his phone to his coach before going onto the ice, and doesn’t get it back until his final score has been confirmed. It’s for his own good; left to his own devices with an internet connection, Yuuri tends to obsess.

 _Yuuri Katsuki._ He’s googled his own name so often that it’s the first search result suggested to him by his phone. Yuuri clicks on it and scrolls down until he finds the video he’s looking for.

**Yuuri Katsuki Wins Gold in Men’s Figure Skating – Sochi 2014**

The icon is a picture of him from a year ago, frozen just before he takes off into a quad loop, and the deep navy of his costume is stark against the white ice.

He presses play.

Watching himself skate is strange. It doesn’t really look like him in the footage, and the memories he has of skating are always a little blurred by adrenaline. It’s stranger still to see himself after the performance, picking up a stuffed California roll off the ice, and to see Celestino grab his cheeks and shout, “You nailed it, Yuuri!”

He watches right through to the end of the video, through his squinting confusion at the screams until Celestino yells in his ear that he’s won, that he’s set an world record, and through Phichit jumping down from the stands and throwing himself at Yuuri, much to the consternation of rink security.

This is the Yuuri Katsuki that everyone wants – the 20-year-old skater who refuses to leave a single event without medalling, supported by an exuberant coach and an energetic rink-mate, someone they can make gifs out of and turn into a front-page story.

That’s not him.

Sighing, Yuuri reaches for his water and puts his phone down. Someone thuds a skate-bag down next to the chair opposite him, and Yuuri looks up, expecting to see Phichit. He promptly chokes on his mouthful of water.

“Hello again,” Victor says, smiling widely. He’s eating a packet of lime Doritos, and pops a chip into his mouth.

Yuuri makes himself swallow. “Hi.”

“Want some?” Victor offers, gesturing at the packet.

Yuuri doesn’t have any clue what’s going on. Is this – are they friends now? Is that how it works? They met at the rink, Yuuri was standoffish and weird, and bam, instant friendship. That’s not something that happens, right?

Shit, that’s totally how Yuuri made friends with Phichit.

Yuuri just stares at the packet of Doritos, unable to say anything. Victor shrugs and continues eating.

This is so awkward. The awkwardness is palpable. Yuuri is going to expire and then Phichit will laugh because dying of awkwardness is a fucking ridiculous thing to do.

Victor makes no move to say anything.

“Was there…” Yuuri’s hands twitch towards his phone, if only so that he will have something to do, but he resists the urge. “Was there something you wanted?”

Victor swallows his mouthful of chips. “You saw me skate the other day,” he says. “What did you think?”

Is this a test of some sort? “You were good,” Yuuri says.

“Really?” Victor asks. Yuuri can’t quite read his face.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, eyes falling to his phone again. “You landed all your jumps. It’s a challenging program.”

Victor grins. “And you’d know that best, wouldn’t you?”

_“—know that best, wouldn’t you?”_

_Yuuri can’t speak. He opens his mouth, but no words form._

_“God, you’re pathetic. I’ll see you on the ice.”_

_He’s frozen on the spot, until—_

“So, what did you really think?”

Yuuri snaps back to Victor. “What?”

“Of my skating,” Victor elaborates.

Yuuri feels his palms begin to clam up. He pulls them from the table and fists them in his jeans. “I already told you. It was fine.”

Victor snorts. “Like that’s the truth,” he says. “I’d only been messing around with that program for a couple of weeks – no way was it even approaching ‘good’. Or do you think so little of me that you believe that’s all I’m capable of?”

Yuuri’s chest tightens. His knuckles are white around the fabric of his jeans, and he forces himself to relax his grip. He inhales. “You want the truth?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The truth. What, that his jumps were clean, but everything else felt off? That his timing was shit, that the choreography looked like it barely fit the music? That he moved like a puppet, that there was no consistency to the program, that the step sequence was botched so spectacularly that it was a miracle it was even identifiable? That his flying sit spin was too slow—

“I didn’t skate a flying sit spin,” Victor interrupts.

All the blood drains out of Yuuri’s face. Oh no. Oh please, no, he did _not_ just say that out loud—

“But the rest of it was helpful,” Victor goes on. He licks his fingers clean from the Doritos and begins to fold the empty packet into a triangle. “That was uncanny, though. I half expected you to call me Vitya and tell me I’d never amount to anything if I continued on like this.”

What?

“Anyway,” he tosses his fringe out of his face, “I guess I’ll see you at the rink, tonight, then.”

_What?_

The shock must show on Yuuri’s face, because Victor grins at him. “You’re going to show me how to fix it,” he says.

And then he’s gone, weaving through the crowded cafeteria until Yuuri’s can no longer see that silver head of hair amongst the students.

He’s still staring blankly at the people around him when Phichit appears, grinning, and declaring himself ready for food.

\--

Yuuri doesn’t know what he’s doing. That’s not really anything new so far as life is concerned, but now that same feeling of helpless confusion has been transferred over to figure skating, he can’t help but feel like he’s reached a new low.

“You’re going to show me how to fix it, huh,” he says, looking up at the rink’s bright overhead lights.

Yuuri is barely able to fix the mistakes in his own skating most days, and suddenly he’s supposed to be fixing other people’s too?

“You came.”

Yuuri looks down, catching sight of Victor stood at the entrance to the rink. He’s dressed for skating, boots held in his hand, and Yuuri notices for the first time that they’re white. He vaguely remembers Phichit saying something about a hotshot skater in juniors triggering a craze along those lines, and Celestino saying that he’d let Phichit skate in purple boots if he made the podium at either Worlds or the GPF.

That does seem to be Celestino’s favourite proviso. Yuuri’s sort of dreading the day when Phichit makes it, because he will definitely collect on every one of those promises.

To Victor, he says, “You told me to be here.”

Victor gives him a strange look, before he shakes his head. “How do you want to do this?”

Yuuri pulls his skates out of his kit bag. “I’m going to skate through this program with you,” he says. “YouTube videos can only show you so much. We’ll go from there.”

Victor looks like he wants to say something, but he bites down on it.

Yuuri looks out at the empty rink. _Okay,_ he thinks, _let’s do this._

\--

**Yakov’s Bitches**

20 MAR AT 23:47

 **Georgi  
** Can I just say, yet again, how much the title of this chat disturbs me?

 **Mila  
** Sure you can

 **Georgi  
** The title of this chat disturbs me

 **Victor  
** It shouldn’t. You’re the bitchiest bitch of all of us.

 **Georgi  
** Thank you, Victor. You say the kindest things

 **Yuri  
** Stfu all of you I’m trying to sleep

 **Mila  
** Well, that’s us told

31 MAR AT 07:41

 **Georgi**  
Warning: just saw Yakov leave his office  
He is PISSED  
Wtf did you guys do

 **Yuri  
** Not me

 **Mila  
** Not me

 **Georgi**  
Victor  
Why is it always you

7 APR AT 15:40

 **Yuri  
** I’M GOING TO KILL HIM

 **Georgi  
** What

 **Mila**  
Yuri just found out that Victor severed his contract  
He’s pissed

 **Georgi  
** He did what

 **Yuri**  
IT’S JUST A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE I FIND YOU VICTOR  
I GOT CHARGED INTERNATIONAL RATES FOR THAT CALL  
I KNOW YOU’RE NOT IN RUSSIA

 **Mila**  
Oh god  
I’ll go calm him down

 **Georgi  
** Godspeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how about that episode 11, huh?


	5. clarere audere gaudere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "clarere audere gaudere" -- [be] bright, daring, joyful
> 
> Season's greetings everyone!

**Figure Skating’s Two Yu(u)ri’s and the World Record That Never Was  
** by Gavin Fredricks, first posted January 1 2015

Looking at the skating world today, I’m not sure I could pick out two skaters whose similarities and differences are quite as stark as Yuri Plisetsky and Yuuri Katsuki. Their rivalry has seen a lot of press over the years, and dates back to their very first meeting in competition: the 2011 Grand Prix Final. I’m hesitant to use the word “bitter” to describe their relationship, but it often feels like the most astute.

Plisetsky had a very decorated junior career. Over the five years he competed in the Junior Division, he amassed four gold medals – the vast majority of which were won in his first two seasons. He was expected to debut in seniors as soon as he passed the age limit, but he had to drastically change the way he skated during puberty, and as such his senior debut was delayed until he was 18.

In Plisetsky’s first season in seniors, he was the skater everyone was watching. It often felt like the word of the season was “potential”, and Plisetsky certainly lived up to his. He claimed silver in the GPF, silver at Worlds, and gold at the European Championships. This is not an unusual record for Plisetsky; he has never finished a competition without medalling.

Entering into the 2011-12 competitive season, the general consensus was that Yuri Plisetsky was not going to leave the ice without a gold medal. He had beaten Georgi Popovich in both Russian Nationals and the European Championships the previous season, and we all knew he was capable of doing it again. What’s more, _he_ knew he was capable of doing it again.

And then Yuuri Katsuki scraped into the Grand Prix Final by the skin of his teeth, skated like no-one had ever seen him skate before, and won silver, pushing Plisetsky down into third. The press that followed was mixed, to say the least. Katsuki was accused of doping, lauded as an underdog success story, and fed backhanded compliments – often all in the same breath. The intensity of the rumours died down a great deal when Katsuki crumbled at Japan’s Nationals and failed to appear at Worlds, his silver medal reduced to a fluke.

In Katsuki’s absence, Plisetsky flourished. He set a world record at Worlds with his short program, passing 100 points for the first time in history. His free skate was less clean, but more than enough to hold down Popovich and win Pliestsky his first gold medal in the Senior Division.

The glory did not last long. In the following season, Katsuki returned and, as if determined to outshine Plisetsky’s stunning program from the previous year, set not one, but three world records. His short program at Worlds came in at bare fractions of a point below Plisetsky’s world record from the previous year, whilst his free skate surpassed 200 points – making Katsuki the first skater to ever achieve a combined score over 300. Not satisfied with those scores alone, Katsuki broke Plisetsky’s world record at the following Grand Prix Final, effectively throwing down the gauntlet for the next big competition: the 2014 Olympics.

It was considered impossible to call the final result of the upcoming showdown. Plisetsky’s supporters were quick to mention his consistent record, his extensive technical skillset, and his former world record. Katsuki’s held up his gold medal and world record from the Grand Prix Final months earlier, and stated with relish that he was the skater with the most momentum to win.

After the short program, the scores were incredibly tight. Skating first, Plisetsky had managed to match Katsuki’s world record – an Olympic record in and of itself. Katsuki, however, had outdone him, breaking his own world record, and pushing himself into first. Entering into the free skate, tensions were high.

As Katsuki was in first place, Plisetsky skated first. In a move that shocked the audience, he shifted all of his jumps to the latter half of his program and, in doing so, smashed through Katsuki’s world record. The toll of such a tactic showed clear: Plisetsky was so drained by the program that he barely made it off the ice, but when the scores were announced his accumulated score placed him more than 30 points ahead of his nearest competitor.

The pressure was on for Katsuki. His free skate would have to be absolutely perfect for him to even have a shot at gold and if he wanted to snatch back his world record, he’d have to go above and beyond that.

So he did.

Katsuki changed the jump elements of his program, switching from three quads to four, and made sure each time to use whatever tricks he could to ramp up the grade of execution. In doing so, he created the most technically difficult program to ever be skated cleanly in competition, and broke Plisetsky’s world record from just minutes before.

There’s a telling comparison that can be made of the final moments of this history-making development: Yuuri Katsuki in the Kiss and Cry, being hugged by his rink-mate Phichit Chulanont, surrounded by the screams of the audience, triumphant and disbelieving; and Yuri Plisetsky, face shut down, and pushing his coach away as he leaves the rink area.

When people mention the Plisetsky-Katsuki rivalry, they are talking about the antagonism that started from this point onwards. Plisetsky himself is a fantastic skater, no doubt, and he is rarely more than a few points away from Katsuki – and from gold. He left the 2014 Olympics with yet another silver medal, and has since made numerous attempts to wrestle gold out of Katsuki’s hands. None have succeeded to date, but he has come extremely close at times.

This year’s World Championships is the next time Plisetsky and Katsuki will meet on an international stage. Plisetsky has announced plans to debut a completely new program – a smart move, considering how low his PCS were during the Grand Prix Final. Whether or not it will be enough to drive Katsuki back into second place, however, remains to be seen.

\--

Yakov likes to put all his skaters’ rest days on the same day, supposedly to give them time to “bond”. Yuri saw through that lie almost the moment it slipped out of Yakov’s mouth, not least because Georgi blithely informed them of the true reason months ago: Sunday is the only day that Lilia Baranovskaya keeps free from dance lessons each week.

It’s fucking gross that Yuri’s schedule revolves around his ancient coach’s sex life. What’s even grosser is Lilia and Yakov’s weird still-not-back-together-this-is-just-sex routine. Aren’t old people supposed to have their shit sorted, or something? This is why Yuri doesn’t do relationships.

Yakov’s been at this for three years, though, so by now Yuri has been able to establish something of a routine. Victor likes to get up early and go for runs – like the disgusting morning person he is – so Yuri gets up half an hour later and makes breakfast. Mila and Georgi emerge around then – and if there is a god in this world, they do not come out of the same room – and then they all eat together before going to church.

And yet…

Yuri stares down at the extra bowl in his hands. He will not throw it against the wall. He won’t. He is a mature figure skater who pays for his own crockery, and Mila would probably laugh and make him clear it up.

“So, what are we having today, chef?”

Yuri exhales and forces his grip on the bowl to relax. “Kasha,” he says. He turns around.

Mila is a mess. Her hair is in disarray and she forgot to take her make-up off before she fell into bed, leaving her with dark smudges around her eyes. She’s been staying late at the rink a lot lately, and Yuri’s been pretending that he doesn’t know it’s because she’s trying to nail a quad jump. She isn’t going to manage it, not before she retires at least, but he hasn’t said anything. Let her waste her time how she wants.

She makes a face. “You and Victor are the only two who actually like that, you know,” she says. She shuffles across the kitchen and pulls a box of cereal out of her cupboard. “Georgi just pretends to like it because he’s scared you’re going to kick him out.”

Yuri suppresses a smirk. “Maybe that’s why I make it.”

She snorts. “You know, I could actually believe that.”

“Where is the burn-out, by the way?” he asks. “He’s normally up by now.”

Mila pulls open the fridge and grabs the milk. “He had a date last night. Totally bailed on me at the rink, the ass.”

“And he’s still not back?” Yuri serves himself a helping of kasha. “Guess he’s not as hopeless as we all thought.”

“Georgi’s not the problem; his taste in women is,” Mila says. “He’ll be back for church. We can grill him then.”

Yuri doesn’t have quite the same confidence in Georgi that Mila does; he _remembers_ the GPF back in ‘09. He had mostly been glad that he was making his senior debut the following year so that Russia would have something else to show for itself other than Georgi Popovich screaming on the ice about _Anya_.

Yeah. Come to think of it, Yuri doesn’t have all that many positive examples of the whole relationship thing in his life.

As he settles in to eat breakfast, he pulls out his phone to check his various social media platforms. It’s all disturbingly quiet – even the Thai wannabe has yet to post anything new. And Victor’s accounts have all been dead since he absconded, which Yuri predicts won’t last long. Sooner or later, Victor’s going to screw up, and Yuri will be waiting. The brat is coming back to Russia whether he likes it or not.

“Are you going to go see your grandpa after church today?”

Yuri looks up and locks his phone screen. “Probably,” he says, reaching for his spoon. “Why do you ask?”

Mila shrugs. “Skype date with the boyfriend.”

Ugh. “I don’t know why you haven’t dumped him yet,” Yuri replies. “You said he cheated on you.”

She shrugs again. “It’s complicated, Yuri.”

_No it really isn’t,_ Yuri thinks. He doesn’t say that, though. Mila already knows.

\--

**Otabek Altin**

12 APR AT 07:56

**Beka**  
[IMAGE]  
Who gave him my number  
How do I make him Stop

**Yuri  
** Kill him. It is the only way.

**Beka**  
Canada and America are close right  
Leo would do it if I asked

**Yuri  
** Does he even know what Ota means?

**Beka**  
I hope to God not  
[IMAGE]  
Change of plans  
Kill me instead

**Yuri  
** Pretend it’s not you. Say that he was given the wrong number.

**Beka**  
By whom  
Who thought it was a good idea to give Leroy my number  
Why

**Yuri**  
I have a personal motto that I feel applies in this circumstance.  
When in doubt, Chulanont.

**Beka**  
Chulanont trains in America too  
Gonna send Leo on a road trip

**Yuri**  
Hahaha  
Gotta go now. Church

**Beka  
** Pray for me

**Yuri  
** Of course.

\--

Georgi almost misses the service, slipping in just minutes before the doors close. As he sits down next to them, Yuri catches a string of hickeys disappearing beneath Georgi’s rumpled collar, which removes any questions Yuri might have had about how the date went.

After church has finished, Yuri slips away from the congregation, leaving Mila and Georgi to field questions and congratulations for their performance at Worlds, and walks down the street a bit further to the graveyard.

He weaves between the headstones until he reaches his grandfather’s – off to the side, modest but tasteful, and well-maintained. He drops to the ground in front of it.

“Hey, Gramps,” Yuri says. “Sorry I didn’t come last week. You know how it is in the week after Worlds.”

Yuri always used to think it was stupid how characters in movies spoke to gravestones as if the people buried beneath them could hear them, and he still does. This was one of the things he promised his grandfather, though, and Yuri doesn’t have it in him to break a promise to the one person he loved most in the world.

_Tell me how you do,_ his grandfather had told him from his hospital bed. He was talking about the Olympics. He didn’t even live long enough to see the scores from Yuri’s free skate.

Yuri still doesn’t know if he’s relieved or angry about that.

“I got silver,” he says. “Again. And Katsuki broke his own world record. Again. I beat him in the short program, though, which is probably why he stepped it up so much during the free skate, the freak.”

There’s no response from the headstone. Of course there isn’t. It’s just a lump of rock.

“Mila made pirohzki for me when we got back. They tasted like shit. Georgi said he liked them, but I saw him sneaking them into the bin when Mila’s back was turned.”

Yuri looks down at the Cyrillic characters carved into the headstone. _NIKOLAI PLISETSKY._ He straightens. “Next time I come here, I’ll have another gold medal. I swear it.”

Then he turns around and walks away.

\--

**phichit+chu** when u wake up ur dose for the day is by the bed

**phichit+chu** and when i get back im going to tease u so bad for sleeping in so late

**phichit+chu** oh the luxuries of taking a season off

**katsuki_yu** found the pill. thanks.

**phichit+chu** it lives

**katsuki_yu** haha yeah sorry I didn’t get back from the rink until like two last night

**phichit+chu** two? in the morning????

**phichit+chu** do i have to get ciao ciao to lecture u abt overtraining again

**phichit+chu** bc i will

**phichit+chu** i have a twitter account followed by the man and im not afraid to use it

**katsuki_yu** still bitter abt that I see

**katsuki_yu** and nah you don’t need to worry. I wasn’t skating for most of the time

**katsuki_yu** got caught up talking to someone actually I guess

**phichit+chu** at the rink? at two am?

**katsuki_yu** yh

**phichit+chu** ur fans really are wild

**katsuki_yu** how do you know it was a fan

**phichit+chu** yuuri they were also at the rink at two in the morning

**phichit+chu** = > theyre just as nuts about skating as u

**phichit+chu = >** they undoubtedly know who you are

**phichit+chu** = > they are your fan

**phichit+chu** ∴ lhs = rhs

**phichit+chu** quod erat demonstrandum bitches

**katsuki_yu** in the face of such logic how could I disagree

**phichit+chu** if nothing else comes from my phys degree i will at least have a screenshot of u saying that to me

**katsuki_yu** ok phichit

**phichit+chu** see i can tell ur being sarcastic but i dont care

**katsuki_yu** ok phichit

**phichit+chu** now ur just being an ass

\--

The dorm kitchen exists in a permanent state of low-level grime, but it’s all Phichit and Yuuri have access to most days. Since enrolling in college as a wide-eyed freshman, Yuuri’s learned exactly what the worn room can take, and what each of the cheap appliances is capable of.

“So,” Phichit says, munching on a piece of red pepper he snagged off Yuuri’s chopping board, “tell me more about this fan.” He’s perched on the counter, legs swinging off the edge.

Yuuri eyes the chicken cooking in his pan critically. “What’s to tell?”

“Well, they managed to trap you in conversation so expertly that even your avoidant ass couldn’t extricate itself,” Phichit says. He steals another piece of pepper. “So that’s something at the very least.”

Yuuri shrugs uncomfortably. He doesn’t know how exactly to talk about what he’s doing with Victor without Phichit reading too far into it. It’s not really coaching, not really. More like… Yuuri doesn’t know. Tutoring?

“C’mon, Yuuri,” Phichit says. “At least give me a name?”

Yuuri blinks, then notices that he’s burning the chicken. He turns down the heat. “Victor. I don’t know the surname.”

Phichit, who has already pulled out his phone and is probably already halfway through typing his way to a restraining order, drops the device in dismay. “No surname? _Yuuri_. Stalking game weak.”

Yuuri shrugs again.

“Anything else you can tell me?” Phichit asks. “They’re probably a student here if they were at the rink, but that doesn’t really narrow it down much.”

Yuuri slaps Phichit’s hand away from the chopping board, and picks it up to tip the vegetables into the pan. “They were a freshman, I think,” Yuuri says. “Young, at the very least. Silver hair. Russian. Or at least they had that sort of accent. And they skated in white boots, like that… what? Phichit, what?”

“Either you’re really, really oblivious, or your sense of humour is way more off-kilter than I thought it was,” Phichit says. “Whichever it is, I feel like I need to adjust my perception of your character.”

“ _Phichit_.”

Phichit sighs and brings up something on his phone. He turns the screen around so that Yuuri can see it. “Was this your fan?”

It’s a figure skating still – taken in the middle of an Ina Bauer – and the skater in question has long, silver hair. It is undeniably Victor. Yuuri feels his stomach drop. “When was this taken?”

“Junior Worlds,” Phichit answers, taking his phone back. “Last month. That’s Victor Nikiforov. He won gold.”

Oh. Oh _no._ “I told him he moved like a puppet.”

“You did what?”

Yuuri didn’t even recognise him. He hasn’t watched anything from juniors since he left the division himself, so it’s not surprising, but he probably made a total _ass_ out of himself.

Did Victor notice? Why didn’t he _say_ anything?

“Yuuri? Yuuri. _Yuuri._ ”

Yuuri snaps back and follows Phichit’s gaze to the stir fry on the hob that’s started to char. “Shit!” He flicks the heat off and pushes the pan away from it.

Phichit watches his movements with a frown on his face. “Yuuri, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, prodding at the food that he’s probably going to have to throw out. “Yeah, I’m just—distracted.”

Phichit doesn’t look like he believes him, but he lets it lie. “It’s weird that Nikiforov is in Detroit, though. He turns nineteen this season – he’s making his senior debut in less than eight months.”

Yuuri doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything.

\--

**tessmccoy12**

[IMAGE]

♥ 12 likes

**tessmccoy12** tfw you bet your goalie that you’d leave with the hot nerd in the corner but your new roommate is a master of seduction @cap-karenm

View all 4 comments

**mercy88** the power of russian jailbait XD  
**cap-karenm** suicides. endless suicides. for all of you. victor can join in too.

\--

Victor Nikiforov’s skating is probably best described as flashy. His programs are packed with moves designed to wow the audience – he has two quads, something especially impressive for a junior level skater – and choreography that is dizzying in its complexity. Victor pulls off each of his elements with an almost lazy grace, and it is clear to anyone watching that he is a natural at this.

But that’s all his programs are: exciting, showy, and shallow. Victor’s PCS reflect that, but not as harshly as they should.

_Cheap tricks,_ Yuuri thinks. _You could be better than this._

The door to the rink bangs open and Victor enters, short hair windswept. At some point in the last month, he must have cut it. Yuuri doesn’t know why – it looked good on the ice, sweeping through the air behind him.

“So,” Yuuri says to Victor. He turns his phone screen around. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

Victor stops dead. “So I guess you really didn’t recognise me.”

The blasé response rankles something deep within Yuuri. “Don’t deflect,” he spits.

Victor shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.

Yuuri’s hands clench into fists. “What the hell are you doing in America?” he demands. “Is this some sort of joke to you?”

He can’t read Victor’s face, and still, the other skater says nothing.

“And what the hell was that bullshit you did to my short program?” Yuuri goes on. “Did you think I’d really give you my blessing to steal one of my programs? I am not a tool for you to use on your way to success!”

There’s a pause.

“Look,” Victor says, voice flatter than usual, “if you don’t want to do this anymore, I can—”

Yuuri slams his hands down on the edge of the rink. “I _want_ answers!”

Victor seems frozen to the ground, eyes wide. He opens his mouth. “I—”

The door to the rink bangs open. “Victor, why the hell isn’t your phone on? I’ve got Mila blowing up mine saying she has to talk to you—Yuuri.”

Yuuri turns towards the speaker. Karen Miller, captain of the women’s hockey team, stands in the doorway to the rink, a heavy coat thrown over what appears to be a pair of SpongeBob pyjamas. Yuuri doesn’t know her that well, but he and Phichit had to carry her back to her bed during freshman year when she drank too much to get there on her own. She sent them a fruit basket to say thank you.

She also called the 2013 Worlds “that ice skating thing you have soon” and said when she wished them luck, so Yuuri is pretty sure she shouldn’t know nearly enough about figure skating to know Victor Nikiforov personally.

“Okay,” Karen says, looking between Yuuri and Victor. “Okay, whatever.”

Victor seems to come unstuck. “Mila?”

Karen throws her phone at him. “Skype her. She’s waiting for you to call.”

Victor snatches the phone out of the air and then walks straight past Karen, out of the rink. He doesn’t say anything else. Yuuri stares after him.

“So,” Karen says. “Heard you won some medals.”

Yuuri turns back to Karen. “Ah. Yeah.”

“Cool,” Karen says.

\--

**tessmccoy12**

[IMAGE]

♥ 2.3k likes

**tessmccoy12** tfw you bet your goalie that you’d leave with the hot nerd in the corner but your new roommate is a master of seduction @cap-karenm

View all 861 comments

**tessmccoy12** 2000 likes wtf  
**yurisangel991** IS THAT VICTOR NIKIFOROV?????? @v-nikiforov @yuri-plisetsky @milabfigure @popovichgeorgi  
**xxxyurotchkaxxx** WTF IS HE DOING IN DETROIT OMG @v-nikiforov @yuri-plisetsky @milabfigure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 12, guys. Damn.


	6. in nocte consilium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in nocte consilium = advice comes overnight (i.e. sleep on it, tomorrow is a new day etc.)

**Five Figure Skating Moments That Will Bring A Smile To Your Face  
** From Buzzfeed, April 4 2015 

**5\. The Wrong Music Plays At The Start Of Mila Babicheva’s Exhibition… And She Skates To It Anyway**

At the start of this list, we have the uncontested Queen of Figure, Mila Babicheva. She’s an Olympic gold medallist, a fashion icon, and the kind of badass that sets world records even when her face is being held together by butterfly stitches. During one exhibition skate in 2012, the wrong music was played at the start of her exhibition program. No matter – among her other titles, Mila Babicheva is the Queen of Not Giving A Fuck. She skated to the song in a half-improvised routine that brought the crowd to their feet. 

Here’s the video. We’ll leave you with it for a bit. 

[VIDEO] 

**4\. Yuri Plisetsky and Georgi Popovich Show First-Time Medallist Yuuri Katsuki The Ropes At The GPF Medals Ceremony**

Nothing really hammers home just how new to winning Yuuri Katsuki was more than how clueless he was at the medals ceremony of his first Grand Prix Final. Luckily for him, then champion Georgi Popovich, and his surly fellow Russian, Yuri Plisetsky, were more than willing to take Yuuri under their wing and make sure he made it through all the traditions of medalling – yes, Yuuri, you must join the other two medallists on the top podium for a photo, and _yes,_ a lap of honour is necessary, and _for goodness’s sake Yuuri,_ why don’t you just follow the other Yuri’s lead? 

[IMAGE] 

[IMAGE] 

[IMAGE] 

**3\. Jean-Jacques Leroy Uses His Exhibition Skate To Propose To His Girlfriend**

Jean-Jacques Leroy is one of those polarising figures – half the skating fandom would take a bullet for this man, and the other half would most likely be pulling the trigger. Part of this is due to his involvement in the scoring controversy at the most recent World Championships, where some say both his programs were massively over-scored, and that his bronze medal – won by just 0.31 points – was undeserved. Nevertheless, he appeared at the exhibition skate the following day, and ended his program with a surprise: getting down on one knee and asking for Isabella Cheng, his girlfriend, to marry him. 

“It’s not a gold medal like I promised,” Jean-Jacques declared, “but marry me anyway?” 

[VIDEO] 

**2\. Sara Crispino Screams When Mila Babicheva Lands Her First Ratified Triple Axel**

Remember when we talked about how much of a badass Mila Babicheva is? This is the moment that solidified it. During warm-up at the 2010 Olympics, Mila collided with another skater – Sara Crispino. Neither of them had more than surface injuries, but Mila’s face was very cut-up from the encounter. Did she slow down for even a minute? Nah. Steri-Strip that shit and move on. 

Sara, in spite of numerous efforts from her coach to get her to the interview bay, stayed rink-side until Mila had finished her short program. And no-one was more delighted than her when Mila landed the first clean triple axel in competition ever – and threw a triple toe on the end just because she could. 

[IMAGE] 

[IMAGE] 

**1\. Phichit Chulanont Tackle-Hugs Yuuri Katsuki After He Wins Olympic Gold**

Nothing says friendship quite like leapfrogging a guarded barrier and barrelling into your exhausted bestie on international television, but then again no one does friendship quite like Phichit Chulanont, either. If you’ve seen this clip before, we’re not surprised – it went viral shortly after it was broadcast. Well-known though it may be, it’s hard to find a better example of the sportsmanship that the closed-off world of figure skating allows to bloom. 

[IMAGE] 

[IMAGE] 

[IMAGE] 

**Honourable Mention: Yuri Plisetsky Is Interviewed By Anyone, Ever**

Clickbait might not be proper journalism, but at least you’re not Yuri Plisetsky’s publicist – a common Buzzfeed employee proverb. 

There isn’t a skater out there who says half as much controversial shit as Yuri Plisetsky, and that includes his rink-mates Victor “In That Case The Skating Federation Can Suck My Dick” Nikiforov and Mila “If It Bothers Them That Much I’ll Just Take My Triple Axel Elsewhere” Babicheva. (Not forgetting, of course, Georgi “Hot Mess” Popovich.) 

In case you don’t believe us, we’ve provided a helpful video montage below. 

[VIDEO] 

\-- 

The lobby of the rink feels too open for the skype call that’s dialling on Karen’s phone. Victor looks around for a few moments, before he ducks into the men’s changing room and sinks onto a bench. 

His mind is alight with a thousand possibilities of what Mila will say. They spoke yesterday – at nearly 3am local time – and Victor remembers being curled around his laptop in the dark of Karen’s guest bedroom, listening to the smooth sound of Russian. Something has happened. 

Mila picks up. “Vitya, is that you?” 

Victor feels something catch in his throat. “Mila, what’s wrong?” 

Mila lets out a deep breath. “Vitya, thank God I caught you,” she says. “Yuri didn’t turn up for morning practice.” 

Victor waits for her to finish, because that can’t be it. _If you get an unexpected call past half ten at night,_ Mila had told him once, more than slightly tipsy, _then someone is dead._

“Is he missing?” Victor asks. He mentally calculates what time it must be in Russia – it must be just gone eight, or so. That’s two and a half hours after the start of morning practice, which doesn’t seem like an emergency – any number of things could have detained Yuri for that long. 

“No, well, not precisely,” Mila says. “I checked his search history. Vitya, he bought himself a ticket to Detroit.” 

Victor almost drops Karen’s phone. “He did what? _Why_?” 

“To wish you luck in your future career—why do you _think_ , idiot?” 

The fingers of Victor’s free hand curl in on themselves unconsciously. “I’m not coming back to Russia,” he says quietly. The words feel like bile in his throat. 

“I know that,” Mila snaps. “I’m the one who helped you make your escape in the first place, in case you don’t remember. Which idiot was it who wanted to abscond immediately after Junior Worlds, instead of waiting until Yakov was out of the country bare weeks later?” 

Victor drops his head. “Sorry.” 

“So what are you going to do?” 

What is there to do? Yuri Plisetsky is a force of nature – you don’t divert him, you don’t fight him off, you just avoid and endure. “Detroit’s a big city,” Victor says with a paper-thin veneer of confidence. “I guess I’ll just keep things low-key for a bit.” 

Mila snorts. “Vitya, you have never been low-key about anything in your life.” 

Victor shrugs before he remembers she can’t see it. 

“Then again,” Mila goes on, “neither has Yura, so I guess you’ll at least be able to see him coming and make a run for it. You’re faster than him, anyway.” 

Somehow, Victor doubts that a chase through the streets of Detroit is going to end up working in his favour. Knowing his luck, a member of Yuri’s Angels would trip him up so that they could smell his shampoo, or something. 

“What did it?” he asks. 

“A random post on social media that somehow caught the attention of Yuri’s fanclub,” Mila answers. “I’ve been tagged like five thousand times in one photo, and I—” she pauses. “Vitya, you—” she breaks off again. “No, never mind.” 

“What?” 

Mila inhales strongly over the line. “Are you okay, Vitya?” 

Victor makes himself stand up from the bench. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” 

Mila grumbles something incoherent, then audibly shuffles her phone over to her other ear. “Look,” she says, “Vitya, he was an ass. And both of us got hurt. But I’m okay. This isn’t my first time ending a relationship messily. I’m not about to paint my face purple and scream on the ice, okay?” 

Victor feels something unfurl in his chest. “I bet you’d still win gold, though.” 

“I have a triple axel that I can skate in combination with a triple toe,” Mila replies. “I could skate without boots and still take gold.” 

“And yet, you’re not satisfied with just that.” 

“Hey, a quad’s a quad, and can you imagine how crazy the crowd will go if I manage it?” 

Victor smiles. “Pretty damn crazy,” he says. Yakov will completely lose his shit, as well, which makes it all the better. Georgi will probably end up getting chewed out for helping Mila, and it will completely fly over everyone’s heads that the person who first showed Mila how to do it was Victor. 

He really wants to see it happen. 

Mila sighs. “I’m sorry we can’t talk more often,” she says. “Yuri thinks I’m still dating Sergei, so I’ve been pretending that I’m skyping him when I call you, and there are only so many times you can pretend to have skype sex before you start getting called a nymphomaniac—” 

“Hey, who are you talking to?” 

Victor freezes. It may be muted by distance from the phone’s microphone, but he can easily recognise Georgi’s voice. 

“Ah,” Mila says, voice further away from the phone. “Karen?” 

“Karen?” Georgi says in the distance. “Wait – Karen Miller? The little sister of your first girlfriend? Mila, what the fuck?” 

“How do you even remember that?” Mila asks. “And we’re friends, okay?” 

“I didn’t think she spoke Russian.” 

“She took a class.” 

“Look, just—” 

Abruptly, there’s a sound like the phone is being wrenched out of Mila’s hand. He can hear her shouting, “Hey!” but it’s quieter, and when a new voice speaks over the line, it’s not her. 

“Victor, is that you?” 

Victor considers hanging up. It’s a near thing, but he doesn’t. “Hi, Georgi.” 

Georgi exhales roughly. “Victor,” he says, and there is something like relief in his voice. “Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how badly Yakov flipped his shit when you left? You better pray you don’t come up against any of his skaters in competition – he’ll crush you just on principle.” 

“I’m,” Victor starts to say, then stops. _I don’t have a coach,_ he thinks, _I don’t have a program, and I don’t know if I care anymore._ He says, “I don’t know if I’ll be competing this season. Sorry.” 

“Yeah,” Georgi says with a sigh. “I guess I had figured that. Look, I know that you had a reason for making your escape when you did, but I really wish you had been to see me before you fled.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Stop apologising, it’s freaking me out,” Georgi says. “Look, when we next see each other, pull me aside for a few moments. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

“Okay,” Victor says. He just wants the call to be over. 

“So,” Georgi says, voice pitched towards teasing. “Detroit. Any reason for that?” 

Victor knows what he is supposed to say. It’s supposed to be a joke, and he’s supposed to laugh with Georgi at the idea that he ran straight into the arms of Yuri’s arch-nemesis. _And here I thought you’d be in full support of a little Romeo and Juliet, Mr Heartbreak_ – that’s the correct response. 

But Victor feels stretched thin, and when he reaches for an answer, he stumbles on uncharacteristic honesty. “It wasn’t Russia.” 

Georgi falls silent. Then, quietly, he says, “Yeah. I guess it wasn’t.” 

\-- 

Yuuri is like a bullet in the air, and he comes crashing down on the ice with the force of one, as well. Karen feels her mouth drop open at the sight. “Holy shit,” she says as he skates back to the boards. “Holy _shit_ , Yuuri.” 

He shifts awkwardly on his skates. “That was a quad loop,” he says. “My triple loop used to be my best jump, so Celestino decided it was probably the best one for me to try as a quad, after the salchow and the toe loop.” 

“I don’t know what any of those words mean, but that was fucking awesome,” she says. “How fast were you going in the air? That was insane.” 

Yuuri shrugs. “That’s quads for you.” 

When Karen met Yuuri, she had placed him in the same category of cute that was occupied by bunnies, and smaller versions of everyday objects. He had this whole glasses-blushing-ingénue thing going for him, which in retrospect is probably the only reason it has taken until now for her to realise that he could very probably kill a man with his thighs. She realises too late that she’s staring, and abruptly looks back to his face. 

There’s a light dusting of red across his cheeks. Right. Yeah. Still too cute to bang. 

“You’d be scary as shit in a hockey game,” she says instead. 

Yuuri makes an awkward shrugging motion. “I probably couldn’t pull it off in hockey skates,” he says. “For a long time, I couldn’t even land quads in regular figure skates. Celestino had to buy me a pair of custom boots and blades before my first season in seniors.” 

Karen looks down at his skates. They’re black, and meticulously well-cared for, but there doesn’t seem to be that much special about them. “How much do those go for, then?” 

“Well, my first pair cost 60,000 yen, so about 500 dollars,” Yuuri says, “but these came closer to a couple of grand.” 

Karen chokes. “A couple of _grand_? Is Celestino your coach or your sugar daddy?” 

It’s Yuuri’s turn to choke, but his stream of horrified denials is interrupted by the door to the rink opening. Victor strides in, face determinedly blank. He shoves Karen’s phone into her hands, picks up his kit bag, and then turns back around and leaves again. 

He doesn’t so much as look at Yuuri. 

Karen sighs. Is it too late to send him back to Russia? Probably. Ugh, ugh, ugh. 

“I should go,” she says to Yuuri in the silence that follows Victor’s dramatic exit. “I’ll see you around, and maybe think about coming to one of our parties sometime. I’ve got a beer with your name on it.” 

Yuuri doesn’t react to any of what she said. He’s still staring at the door that Victor threw open and stormed out of just moments ago. 

She shakes her head, then turns around and walks after Victor. 

\-- 

**katsuki_yu** phichit I lied 

**katsuki_yu** sorry 

**phichit+chu** ok? 

**phichit+chu** what did u lie abt? 

**katsuki_yu** I’ve been coaching victor nikiforov at the rink 

**katsuki_yu** except I didn’t know he was victor nikiforov 

**katsuki_yu** and I don’t know why I didn’t tell you 

**katsuki_yu** I guess I just thought that you’d judge me for it and I know that’s stupid but ugh 

**phichit+chu** okay 

**phichit+chu** u kno that im not mad abt this right 

**phichit+chu** and after the shit u saw me do in freshers week i have like the least right to judge u on basically anything 

**katsuki_yu** yeah 

**katsuki_yu** I told you I know it’s stupid 

**phichit+chu** k just checking 

**phichit+chu** and like this is a good thing ok 

**phichit+chu** u need something to do now that u wont be competing this season 

**phichit+chu** and if that something is a cute russian prodigy then im cool with that 

**katsuki_yu** is that 

**katsuki_yu** phichit I 

**katsuki_yu** you think I was trying to sleep with him???? 

**phichit+chu** uh yeah 

**phichit+chu** victor nikiforov is hot 

**phichit+chu** like hes sexuality crisis hot 

**phichit+chu** and hes a pretty open fan of urs 

**phichit+chu** in a way that i dont think is strictly abt the ice if u get my meaning 

**katsuki_yu** PHICHIT 

**katsuki_yu** I was teaching him how to skate my sp from last season 

**katsuki_yu** it was never about sex or whatever ur dirty mind has conjured up 

**phichit+chu** u always say that 

**katsuki_yu** bc it’s always the truth 

**phichit+chu** look no judgement but u could have said something before i set u up on like the fifth date with a girl 

**phichit+chu** unless u like all genders in which case that’s cool too 

**katsuki_yu** I don’t like boys phichit 

**phichit+chu** just nikiforov? 

**katsuki_yu** phichit 

**phichit+chu** ok ok ok ill stop 

**phichit+chu** so why is he in detroit then 

**phichit+chu** did his coach kick him out or whatevs 

**phichit+chu** tho yakov coaches the other yuri and mila so like he probably has a very high tolerance for bullshit 

**katsuki_yu** I don’t know 

**phichit+chu** u didnt ask? yuuri he could be a SPY 

**phichit+chu** wait like u didnt actually think he was a spy did u 

**phichit+chu** bc i can see ur anxiety latching onto that idea like ‘oooh shiny’ 

**katsuki_yu** … 

**phichit+chu** YUURI 

**katsuki_yu** sorry 

**phichit+chu** u do understand how ridiculous that idea is dont u 

**phichit+chu** at this point beating u in competition is a matter of pride for the russian squad. they want a fair fight to prove that they r objectively better than u 

**phichit+chu** and if they were going to spy then they wouldnt send junior champion victor nikiforov to do it. itd be someone lowkey and unnoticeable 

**phichit+chu** and to top it all off ur not even competing this season so why would they even bother 

**phichit+chu** do u need me to write u an itemised list of every other explanation there is that makes more sense than spying 

**katsuki_yu** sorry 

**phichit+chu** stop apologising its making me feel like an asshole 

**katsuki_yu** okay 

**phichit+chu** yuuri are u ok 

**phichit+chu** bc im getting a sort of ‘start worrying’ vibe rn 

**katsuki_yu** I’m fine 

**phichit+chu** i dont believe u 

**phichit+chu** r u still at the rink 

**katsuki_yu** I’m fine 

**phichit+chu** omw 

\-- 

In 2013, Skate America took place in Detroit. It was one of Mila’s assignments for the Grand Prix Series, and she sent Yuri selfie after selfie of herself in the city. He remembers watching them come in, and rolling his eyes when more and more of the pictures began to feature another woman – Mila’s fling-of-the-week, no doubt. Detroit, Mila said when she got back, was cool. 

It has barely been an hour since Yuri’s plane touched down, and he already hates it. 

“And what is the purpose of your visit?” 

Yuri stares dully back at the customs official speaking to him. The man isn’t wearing a nametag, but his colleagues addressed him as Vince when they palmed Yuri off onto him. It’s a shitty name. It sounds like it belongs to a middle-aged plumber whose wife is cheating on him. Yuri isn’t sure that being a customs official is all that much better in the grand scheme of things. 

“I’m meeting a friend for a short visit,” Yuri replies eventually. 

Vince’s eyebrows inch up towards his receding hairline. “Odd time for a visit. You just missed Easter.” 

“I had to work.” 

Vince reaches for Yuri’s suitcase. “Well, let’s get it open, then, and you can be on your way sooner.” He spins it around on the table. “Enter your combination.” 

Yuri does so. He watches Vince unzip his suitcase and then throw back the lid. If he was expecting some form of contraband, he doesn’t look disappointed not to have found it. If anything, Yuri gets the impression that Vince is judging him for his poor folding abilities. 

Vince begins to sort through Yuri’s things, pausing when he comes across the first pair of figure skates. “These look expensive.” 

Yuri quashes a sneer. “They probably cost more than you make in a month.” 

Vince frowns. “You have three pairs in here. Any reason for that?” 

“Obviously.” 

Vince looks up. “You planning on selling them in America?” 

“Oh yeah,” Yuri says, “and when competition season rolls around, I’ll be landing my salchow in trainers.” 

Vince gives him a flat look. 

Yuri sighs. “No, I’m not planning on selling them in your stupid country.” 

Vince nods and goes back to searching Yuri’s suitcase. “So you figure skate?” he asks. “My daughter’s just starting out. She wants to be a pairs skater. Ever since she watched that movie – _The Cutting Edge_.” 

“That’s nice,” Yuri says. 

“It’s sweet, I guess, but it might just bankrupt us.” 

Yuri resigns himself to engaging in conversation with the man searching his bag. “I’m a singles skater for men’s.” 

“Is that any less expensive?” 

“Not really,” Yuri says, “but Russia subsidises young skaters and their families. My mother used to be a figure skater, so I got brought into the fold fairly early on.” 

Vince starts to pack things back into Yuri’s suitcase. “You know there’s a famous skater who trains here in Detroit,” he says. “Trixie hasn’t shut up about it since she found out – wants to join his skate club and everything. You might have heard of him – Yuuri Katsuki?” 

Yuri pauses. “Oh _really_.” 

\-- 

Yuri kicks open the door to the rink. It clatters noisily on its hinges, but he pays it no mind. He stomps to the edge of the ice and places both hands on the barrier surrounding it. “ _Where is he_?” 

\-- 

**yuripirohzki**

do u ever think about how lucky we are to exist at the same time as yuri plisetsky??? like, there is actually a person out there who says shit like, “i’ll make him into borscht in moscow” and “if he’s doping, he’s not very good at it” and, “look, i’m not saying i think mila will kill her, but if she’s found dead, mila was with me the entire time” 

and he says it on live television 

just. like. this guy is so extra. what did we do to deserve him. 

**yuripirohzki**

because _some_ _people_ don’t actually believe me that yuri said these things: 

“I’ll make him into borscht in Moscow.” – said in  this interview, following the Trophée Éric Bompard during the 2012 Grand Prix Series, concerning Yuuri Katsuki (who else) 

“If Katsuki’s doping, he’s not very good at it. Silver at the GPF and silver at Nationals? Please, if I were doping, I’d have three world records already.” – said at the press conference after 2012 Worlds, in a response to a question on the rumours that Yuuri Katsuki was doping during the previous GPF 

“Look, I’m not saying Mila will kill her, but if Park is found dead, Mila was with me the entire time.” – said in an interview just before the 2013 GPF, on the topic of his rink-mate’s tumultuous relationship with Park Soohee 

**1,021 Notes** source: yuripirohzki #figure skating #i love him? #team feltsman #yuri p 

\-- 

Celestino watches Phichit crash down on the ice for the fifth time in as many minutes and sighs. “Okay, that’s enough for today, I think,” he calls. 

Phichit pushes himself up. “Not going to argue with you there,” he mutters, brushing the ice off his trousers. 

Celestino watches closely for any sign of injury in Phichit’s movements, and relaxes when he sees none. “You’ve been falling a lot today,” he comments. “Anything I need to know?” 

“Just tired,” Phichit says, retrieving his phone and water bottle from the side of the rink. “Yuuri kind of freaked me out last night with some stuff he said, so I came out to pick him up from the rink.” 

Celestino frowns. “Is something wrong?” 

Phichit sighs, reaching for his skate guards. “I don’t know. He’s been all over the place since—well, not just Worlds. Since the Olympics, I guess.” 

Celestino sighs. “Tell me before practice if you’re feeling fatigued so I know to stick to triples. I don’t want you injuring yourself with a dodgy quad.” 

“Got it, coach.” 

“ _All I know is that to me, you look like you’re lots of fun_ ,” Celestino’s ringtone sounds through the rink and he sighs. Phichit changed it after he found out that Celestino used to specialise in spins when he competed; as he skates over to his phone, it hits the chorus: “ _You spin me right round, baby, like a record, baby—_ ” 

Celestino picks up the call. 

“Ciao ciao,” he says, turning on his skates to check on Phichit – who is, surprise, surprise, posing for a selfie. 

He snaps back to the call on his phone. “Wait, what?” 

\-- 

**phichit+chu** yuuri yuuri yuuri 

**katsuki_yu** phichit phichit phichit 

**phichit+chu** ciao ciao just had to take a call from the folks down at the other rink 

**phichit+chu** and we have a code black 

**phichit+chu** i repeat: a code black 

**katsuki_yu** oh no 

**katsuki_yu** code black’s the worst one isn’t it 

**katsuki_yu** is celestino gonna make us do a bunch of ice shows again 

**katsuki_yu** am I going to have to dress up a disney prince again 

**phichit+chu** shang li was a general yuuri but ill forgive u bc that whole thing was lowkey racist 

**phichit+chu** and no its WORSE than that 

**phichit+chu** guess who just crashed the ducklings skating sesh 

**katsuki_yu** oh no 

**katsuki_yu** please don’t let it be jj leroy 

**katsuki_yu** if drunk phichit sent something to jj bc he thought it was hilarious again 

**katsuki_yu** sober phichit might be out a best friend 

**phichit+chu** harsh dude harsh 

**phichit+chu** u never hear me talking abt drunk yuuri like this 

**katsuki_yu** bc drunk yuuri is synonymous with unconscious yuuri 

**phichit+chu** ok were getting nowhere so ill just spell it out 

**phichit+chu** it starts with a and ends with ngry russian trash king 

**katsuki_yu** angry russian trash king? 

**katsuki_yu** the other yuri???? 

**katsuki_yu** oh god code black indeed 

**katsuki_yu** what’s he doing in america 

**katsuki_yu** in fact what’s he doing at detroit skate club 

**phichit+chu** id wager thats what ciao ciao wants to know too 

**phichit+chu** he made the funniest face when he took the call 

**phichit+chu** like RUSSIANS? in MY rink? 

**phichit+chu** (its more likely than youd think) 

**katsuki_yu** yakov must be losing his shit 

**phichit+chu** ikr? i mean we put ciao ciao thru a great deal of shit but like neither of us have ever run away to another country in the off season 

**katsuki_yu** students of the year tbh 

**phichit+chu** EXACTLY 

**phichit+chu** so 

**phichit+chu** this probably has something to do with nikiforov 

**katsuki_yu** yeah 

**phichit+chu** ugh what a mess 

\-- 

Victor stares at the ceiling of Karen’s spare room, fingers still fixed around his phone even though the battery has long since run out. He hasn’t taken it off aeroplane mode yet and there’s no good reason why – Yuri is most likely already in Detroit, and it’s not going to be long until he’s tracked Victor down. 

He should go skate. He doesn’t know the time, though, and the thought of kicking around the rink waiting for the ice to clear is not appealing. Worse, still, the rink will probably be the first place Yuri looks for him. 

_I’m not going back to Russia,_ he thinks. 

Yakov, the old rink, St Petersburg – the familiarity of all of it turns his stomach. 

The door opens. “Well, this is a new level of pathetic,” Karen comments, leaning against the doorframe. 

Victor flicks his gaze at her, uncaring of the ratty state of his sweatpants and T-shirt. “What do you want?” 

“You have a visitor,” Karen says. 

Victor rolls over. “I don’t want to see them.” 

“Too late,” Karen says. “I already let them in.” 

Victor flips back over. “Karen, you bi—Yuuri.” 

Yuuri Katsuki is standing where Karen was just moments before, and he’s already frowning. Victor self-consciously tugs at the hem of his top, sitting up in bed. 

Yuuri closes the door behind himself. He doesn’t sit down. “Let’s talk.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We love the Buzzfeed article in chapter one!" Okay, have one _three times the length_.
> 
> During 2012, when Yuuri and Phichit were training alongside each other for the first time, Celestino made them do a bunch of ice shows to build Yuuri's confidence and to help refine Phichit's charisma on the ice. In one particular ice show, they were Disney princes. They ended up in a dubiously racist production that featured Yuuri as Li Shang from Mulan, and Phichit ended up as Aladdin from Aladdin.


	7. libera te tutemet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6,000 words of talking, occasionally accompanied by hot beverages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "libera te tutemet" = free yourself, but with a strong emphasis on the idea that it is you who must do the freeing

Yuuri Katsuki is the only skater that Victor has ever wanted to be like.

In Russia, he watched clips of Georgi – at the Olympics, in the season following that, and the season after that one. Yakov sat beside Victor, saying things like, “Like _that_ , Vitya,” and, “Do you _see_ now?” Georgi Popovich, the man who kick-started the quad race in men’s figure skating, Yakov’s pride and joy. Victor watched him in the videos, and he thought, _How boring._

Land a quad once, and it’s a showstopper. Land it twice, and you’re a trailblazer. Land it three times, and it’s no longer a surprise.

Georgi’s programs told Victor the same story as the man’s Wikipedia page: he reached the top, and then he got complacent. He stopped pushing the boundary, accepted the easy win, and bowed out without a fight when younger skaters started nipping at his heels. And what’s worse, Georgi is satisfied with his career. He’s happy to leave it at that.

Watching Yuuri skate that first time at the Olympics – it was a crystallising moment for Victor. Yuuri Katsuki _belongs_ on the ice – to the ice, the same way that Victor does. His programs are not something he ever just _skates_ ; he embodies them, pours himself through them until it spills out onto the rink. It is terrifying to watch, invasive and subtly _wrong_ , but so, so beautiful.

That is what Victor wants to be like. He doesn’t want to be someone the audience watches because it’s easy – he wants to be someone they watch because they _cannot look away._

It was supposed to be – not easy, maybe, but the struggle of it was meant to be beautiful. It was supposed to be a lot of things.

And now Yuuri Katsuki is stood in his bedroom, and it feels like everything is slipping through his fingers again.

Victor takes a deep breath. “I was going to call you,” he says. It’s a lie. Victor hasn’t turned his phone on in days. “I’m thankful for your help, but—”

“I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”

Victor stops, surprised. Yuuri looks wound tight, and the words were said in a rush, as if he was purposefully avoiding even the appearance of hesitation.

“I need you to know that it wasn’t particularly anything you did or said,” Yuuri says. He’s not meeting Victor’s eyes. “It was a personal issue and I overreacted. Things have been stressful lately.”

Victor eyes him closely. “Because you’re retiring.”

Yuuri’s head snaps up. “I’m not—who told you I’m retiring? That’s not—I’m not retiring. It’s just one season.”

Victor shrugs.

“The point is,” Yuuri goes on, “I’m sorry. And if you want to keep learning my SP, I’m fine with that as long as you don’t use it in competition. I’m just—protective, I guess, over my programs.”

Every program Yuuri Katsuki has ever skated finds its home deep within him, Victor thinks. You don’t honour something like that by becoming a cheap imitation. “It’s okay,” he says.

Yuuri watches him closely, brows knit behind the frames of his glasses. He reaches some sort of conclusion that Victor wouldn’t want to guess at, even if he could.

“There’s something else I want to tell you. Yuri Plisetsky is in Detroit.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of the words to catch up to Victor. Yuuri knows, which means that—has Yuri spoken to him?

Yuuri sighs. “He gate-crashed a beginner’s class at the skate club’s main rink. Demanded to know where someone was, which I’m guessing means he’s looking for you.”

There’s a leading edge to that statement, an opportunity for Victor to provide an explanation. He doesn’t.

Yuuri exhales, as if he had expected that much. “I’m meeting up with someone in a bit, so I’ve got to go,” he says, “but I’ll see you tonight.”

Victor jolts, gaze snapping to Yuuri, but the other skater is already walking away. The door to Victor’s room closes, and he hesitates, then pushes off his bed and runs. He catches Yuuri in the living room, partway through some sort of goodbye to Karen.

“What do you mean, you’ll see me tonight?” Victor demands, grabbing hold of Yuuri’s wrist.

Yuuri freezes, eyes stuck on Victor’s grip on his wrist. “I—”

Karen sighs loudly behind them. “He means for skating practice, you airhead.”

Victor’s eyes widen. “Really?”

Yuuri doesn’t move, but his gaze strays almost longingly to the door.

“And now you’re making him uncomfortable,” Karen comments.

Victor drops Yuuri’s wrist and turns to Karen. “Could you maybe stop narrating my life for just five seconds?”

Karen rolls her eyes and mimes zipping her lips shut. She goes back to sketching something on a pad of paper.

Victor returns his attention to Yuuri. “You’re going to teach me how to skate your short program?”

There’s a moment where it looks like Yuuri is steeling himself, but it disappears quickly. “Yes,” he says. “You need help with it – especially because it doesn’t suit your style of skating well.” He shifts so that he is slightly closer to the door, as if testing the waters. “I should go.”

Victor nods.

Once Yuuri has shut the door behind him, Karen shakes her head down at her pad of paper. “Pathetic,” she mutters. “Utterly pathetic.”

Victor doesn’t care.

\--

 **anonymous asked:** In your last reblog, you referred to a skater as “Mae-san” and I was wondering who it was? I’ve never heard of them.

**chulanope answered**

[IMAGE: Phichit Chulanont clutching at imaginary pearls, his mouth open as he gasps, scandalised.]

ok ok ok jokes aside, yasuo maeda is a skater i idolised a great deal when i was younger, so getting this ask was sort of like the universe going, “guess what, chump? you’re _old_ now!” oh man, i can’t believe people don’t know who yasuo maeda is. i must seek to rectify this _immediately._

nonnie, to clear things up a bit: yasuo maeda was to japan what yuuri katsuki is to japan, but like eight years ago. he was considered at one point the greatest japanese male figure skater to ever exist.

[IMAGE: Yasuo Maeda, 22, skating his free program at the 2009 GPF. He is grinning as he flies through choreography; he has already won, and he knows it.]

buckle in kids, it’s time for a history lesson.

in the days before yuri plisetsky had ever laid eyes on yuuri katsuki, there was another, somewhat friendlier rivalry dominating the figure skating community. yes, that’s right, i’m talking about these three superstars:

[IMAGE: The podium at the 2007 GPF. At the centre is a devastatingly handsome Japanese man, holding up a gold medal with a grin on his face. On the left is a Chinese skater, trying to look pleased with a silver medal that he clearly feels is the wrong colour. On the right is a younger Georgi Popovich, happily clutching his bronze medal.]

you’ll probably recognise georgi popovich (right), everyone’s favourite hot mess from russia. cao bin is the chinese skater on the left, though this is quite early in his career and before he ditched the frankly appalling bowl cut. in the centre, though, is the man of the hour: yasuo maeda. this was maeda’s first gpf gold medal.

you might have heard some other people in the fandom talking about something called “the quads race” – this is the colloquial name given to the two seasons before the 2010 olympics, when pretty much every world-class figure skater scrambled to add some kind of quad to their program, and to master it in time for the olympics. the vast majority of quads (apart from the axel… no one is quite _that_ insane) were ratified for the first time during these two seasons. and that podium at the 2007 gpf? that was the reason.

you see, the 2007-08 season was the first time that popovich, bin, and maeda began to utterly dominate the podium. facing off against all three of them was a terrifying prospect: if you were competing, _you were not going to medal_. not unless you did something truly impressive to level the playing field.

something like landing a ridiculous jump.

maeda and his podium pals were among the first skaters to be able to reliably land quads. in fact, it was maeda himself who first landed a quad flip in competition. (georgi was the second, and forever bitter, because it literally came down to the fact that maeda was first in the line-up.) the lutz went to bin, and the loop went to a canadian skater called cameron doeberitz.

[GIF: Yasuo Maeda, at the 2009 Worlds, landing his quad flip in his short program for the first time.]

it’s really hard to compare the likes of maeda to modern day skaters, because he was such a pioneer in his time. he, popovich and bin basically revolutionised male figure skating over a period of three years.

“but wait!” you cry. “if maeda’s such a big deal, why haven’t i heard of him?”

because the universe fucking _sucks,_ is why, nonnie.

maeda was the favourite to win the 2010 olympics. i, and basically every other skating enthusiast watching, was convinced he could do it. would do it. it felt inevitable. and for a second, it was.

during the short program, maeda placed first, with a world record score of 99.82 – the same score that yuri plisetsky beat at 2012 worlds. it was tantalisingly close to the 100 point barrier, and that was just the start of it. maeda typically skated much better in his free skate if he had a solid short program backing him up. _god,_ i thought, _he’s going to do it._

he didn’t.

around the halfway mark of maeda’s free skate, he fell badly on a triple flip. he got up, skated on, and fell again, this time on a triple axel. he did not get back up.

[IMAGE: Yasuo Maeda, now 23, collapsed face-down on the ice. A rink-side medic sprints towards him.]

a couple of days later, maeda announced that he would not be continuing with the season. a few weeks after that, he told the press that he would be retiring from the sport. he has not skated since.

maeda’s impact is still visible in the figure skating community today, though. in fact, here’s a picture of him and yuuri katsuki, way back in 2008, when they first met after that year’s junior nationals:

[IMAGE: Yuuri Katsuki, 15, gives the camera a brittle smile as he holds up a pair of well-cared for skates. Beside him, Yasuo Maeda, 21, is a show of perfect charm, and perfect teeth. It is very clearly a posed photo.]

to end, i think i’ll leave perhaps my favourite picture of maeda with you all.

[IMAGE: A children’s hospital ward. Yasuo Maeda is dressed in jeans and his national team coat, but he is clearly injured. He has a bright white bandage around his head, and is using a crutch to walk. Accompanying him are Georgi Popovich and Cao Bin, the latter of whom looks distinctly uncomfortable with their surroundings. All around them are small children, and Maeda is leaning down to hand over a cuddly toy to one of them. The caption is in Japanese, and reads, “Thank you everyone for all their gifts after my skate, but I think these guys need them more.”]

 **602 Notes**     source: chulanope    figure skating #mae-san #yasuo maeda #quads race #asks #skating senpai squad

\--

There’s only one coffee shop close to the university that serves Yuuri’s preferred type of green tea, but he very rarely manages to go there. Phichit cheerfully denounced the place as “hopeless hipster-bait trash” during their first year in Detroit and Yuuri was too new to their friendship to speak up in defence of it. The entire story got wheedled out of Yuuri last year by Minnah, who then decided that she was going to make The Secret Garden the site of all of their meetings from then on.

He ducks into the shop, and immediately spots her hijab – turquoise today – among all the other heads of carefully messy hair. As he makes his way over he sees that she’s already bought him his drink, as well as her own, a repurposed jam jar of lemonade.

She smiles at him when he sits down, and pushes his tea across the table to him.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet,” he says, accepting the glass teacup. “I know things are busy for you at the moment.”

Minnah shakes her head. “It’s really no problem, Yuuri,” she says. She nods at a CD case that is already sitting on the table. “That’s all of them that I ever gave you demos for, and the completed versions of a few pieces that I ended up using for school. I still have the sheet music for some of the others, and could make you a demo if you wanted.”

Yuuri reaches across and takes the CD. “No, this is fine.”

Minnah prods at the ice cubes in her drink with her straw. “I have to admit, I’m a little curious about the reason you wanted all those old pieces,” she says. “They’re not really…” she grimaces. “They don’t really suit you, I guess.”

Yuuri looks down at the CD in his hands, and thinks of the bare truth in those words. “I guess I just felt kind of bad, thinking about all the work you did for me when I first came here, even when I didn’t end up using any of the music.”

Her smile is small and understated, but there’s a level to it that Yuuri feels he doesn’t really understand. “That was more on me than you,” she says. “I didn’t really have any idea what sort of music was required by figure skaters. Or you.”

“They were good,” Yuuri tells her. “I liked them.”

“Yuuri,” Minnah says, “it’s fine.”

Yuuri lets go of the CD, and wraps both of his hands around his tea. “So,” he says. “You’re graduating soon.” He takes a sip, and lets the warm liquid rush down his throat.

“Less than a month now, yes,” Minnah replies. “It’s kind of scary, but I don’t think much will end up changing. Same job, same city, just without the drain of school on top of it. What about you?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. His class timetable is somewhat sparser than most of the other students at the university, and he can only take classes with a good level of resources for independent learning. “I have another year, at least. Maybe two.”

Minnah watches him closely, as if trying to track something only she can see in his body language. “Yuuri, you’ll come to my graduation, right?”

Yuuri blinks. “I—I didn’t know you wanted me there.”

Minnah’s strange smile returns. “There’s something I want to give you – something I’ve been wanting to give you for a long time. And I think it’ll finally be done by the time of graduation. It’s nothing bad. Just—a gift. So, will you come?”

Yuuri looks down at the CD. There’s really only one answer he can give, especially after everything Minnah has done for him. He looks back up again. “Of course,” he says.

\--

**the signs as things yuuri katsuki has done**

**aries:** confiscated a hairdryer from a group of freshmen when he found out they were trying to make grilled cheese with it

 **taurus:** accidentally signed up for a pole dancing class and had to attend it for the credits

 **gemini:** submitted an image of himself holding his olympic gold medal when asked for evidence on his coursework extension request

 **cancer:** forgot the english word for an arm and called it “torso leg” for an entire day

 **leo:** went to take a shower during freshers week and came back to find a drunk student had locked themself in his room

 **virgo:** secretly agreed to cameo in his mother’s favourite drama to surprise her on her birthday

 **libra:** forgot his id when he had to pick up his dorm keys at the beginning of the year and tiredly asked the desk clerk if they couldn’t just google him

 **scorpio:** learned how to cook thai food because his rink-mate was feeling homesick

 **sagittarius:** took a textbook to the olympics so that he could study

 **capricorn:** said, “i guess dating is kind of like skating,” and then refused to elaborate

 **aquarius:** grabbed a skate as a weapon when he thought he heard a burglar (it was just the neighbour’s cat)

 **pisces:** was so tired he laced up his skates on his feet for a day of lectures instead of his trainers

 **201,019 Notes**     source: crispysala    #astrology #libra #had to google yuuri katsuki but apparently he’s an olympic gold medallist/college student #like goddamn #way to make me feel inadequate #i can barely make it to my lectures on time #and here he is churning out decent grades and gold medals like what the fuck #skating georg is an anomaly and should not have been counted

\--

Victor has only ever landed a quad flip in competition once, and he has never done it again since. Yakov struck it from his line-up for the Junior Grand Prix Final, and Junior Worlds, saying that a botched jump would cost him PCS where he couldn’t afford to lose them. Victor complied.

If he’d stayed in Russia, he would be working on the flip every day. He’d have a deadline of next season to polish it up by, and he’d be running at that goal full-pelt.

The rink is empty when Victor enters it, a full thirty minutes before he’s supposed to meet Yuuri. He skates a couple of laps to warm up, and then enters into the set-up for the jump. Toe pick assist, back inside edge – he can almost hear Yakov screaming, “Watch you edge control!” – and then he’s up in the air, rotating once, twice, three times, four times, and then _down_ , onto the ice, free leg sweeping out like second nature. Textbook. Georgi Popovich himself couldn’t have done it better.

“Am I supposed to clap?”

The words are said in fluid Russia, threaded through with a sneer of derision. Victor knows who it is before he turns around.

“Yuri,” he says.

Yuri Plisetsky stands by the boards, arms crossed and face full of bitter scorn. His chin-length blond hair has been pushed off his face by a tiger-print Alice band – one which Victor remembers Mila bought him for his twenty-second birthday. It was supposed to be a gag gift.

“A university rink, really?” Yuri asks.

Victor shrugs. “It’s ice.”

“If you really thought that, you would have run away to the Artic, not America.” Yuri flicks his eyes over the rink, and his lips curl in disgust. “It’s not even meant for figure skating. I can see the zone lines.”

“Training here hasn’t done Yuuri Katsuki any harm,” Victor points out, skating over to the side of the rink.

Yuri scowls. “Why did you call me here?” he asks. “I thought I’d have at least another few days of you cowering away before I rooted you out.”

Victor comes to a stop by the boards and grabs his skate guards. “I thought we should talk.”

Yuri fixes him with a pointed look. “We can talk back in Russia.”

“I’m not going back to Russia, Yuri.”

“Because you have such brilliant opportunities in this shithole?” Yuri asks with a derisive snort. “Next season is your senior debut and I know you, Victor. You won’t be satisfied with anything less than a medal. Now that Katsuki’s out of the running, every other skater is eyeing those three spots on the podium and thinking they have what it takes. Competition is going to be unbelievably fierce. You need the best. That’s Yakov.”

 _Do you want to win first,_ Yakov asked him all those months ago, _or do you want to be the best?_

Victor opens his mouth to reply, but the words catch in his throat. Yakov’s words had been thick with subtext: _I am the very best, and I am the only one who can take you where you want to go._ And Victor still wants that. But, on its own, it’s not enough. Not anymore.

“Yakov,” he says, and the word sounds hollow, “listened to me cry myself to sleep every night at the Croatia Cup, and all he said to me was that I shouldn’t let my emotions interfere with my skating.”

“He was right,” Yuri replies. “You skated terribly in Croatia.”

Victor suppresses a flinch. He knows that. He knows he was lucky to make it to the JGP Final, and he knows just as well as anyone that he scraped onto the podium. Bronze. It should have been a gold.

“He made me feel—” _trivial, worthless, weak_. “He made me feel like a commodity.”

Yuri scoffs. “You _are_ a commodity, Victor,” he says. “We all are. Yakov doesn’t keep us around for our fucking personalities.”

Victor’s hands clench around his skate guards. He doesn’t say anything.

“So, what, is that what this is about?” Yuri asks. “You felt neglected, so you ran away to America?”

“You don’t understand,” Victor says.

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” Yuri snaps. “You’re throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime over, what? Yakov hurting your feelings? Grow up, Victor.”

“It’s not just that,” Victor protests. “It’s—” he reaches for the right words, but can’t find them. He throws his arms out at Yuri. “It’s all _this_! Yes, fine, you don’t understand, but you don’t even _try_ to. You and Yakov both. I am _not_ like you. I am not some skating _slot machine_ that you put training time into, and then you pull its lever and out pour medals. I was falling apart in Russia and all Yakov did was make me feel ashamed of being unable to fix it on my own.”

“So, what, you think being here, in America, is going to magically fix your problems?” Yuri sneers. “This isn’t about _healing_ , Victor. This is you _running aw—_ ”

“I fucked Sergei!” The words burst out of Victor’s mouth without his consent.

Yuri freezes. “What?”

Victor feels giddy with the confession. “Mila’s boyfriend,” he says, “who cheated on her – it was with me. I fucked him, and I knew, and I lied to her face for _months_.”

Yuri takes a moment to gape, before he gathers himself together again. “God, Victor,” he says, “I thought you had better taste.”

He doesn’t even know the half of it. Fuck. Victor brings a hand up to scrub at his face, and comes face to face with the skate guards he still hasn’t put on. He drops them on the side of the rink and pushes his hair out of his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Yuri exhales. “Victor,” he says, and his voice is a touch softer now, “this isn’t how you make that sort of thing right. Exiling yourself to America won’t fix anything. Come back to Russia.”

“Yuri,” Victor says, the fight gone from his body, “I respect you as a skater and trust you as a friend, but there is nothing on earth you could do or say to make me go back now.”

Yuri stares at him. Victor has no idea what he’s thinking, and Yuri doesn’t seem to want to voice it. Discomfort twitches under Victor’s skin, and he forces himself to pick his skate guards back up and put them on. If he pretends to be unaffected long enough, maybe he’ll be able to trick his brain into believing he really is.

He steps off the ice.

“Victor,” Yuri says.

Victor looks at him.

“I—”

The door to the rink clatters open. Victor doesn’t need to look to know it’s Yuuri; he can tell from the way Yuri tenses and his face shutters.

“I’ll see you at the Grand Prix Final,” Yuri says, and then he pushes past Victor towards the door. He stops by Yuuri, looks the other man up and down, and then shakes his head in disgust.

Victor watches the door to the rink slam shut after Yuri.

Yuuri turns to Victor. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

Victor feels something in him strain and crack. “No,” he says. “Not really at all.”

Yuuri’s face is unreadable, but he puts his kit bag down beside the rink and places a hand on Victor’s shoulder. Victor can’t help but stare at the contact.

“C’mon,” Yuuri says. “Let’s go get some coffee, or something.”

\--

Yuuri watches the instant hot chocolate powder dissolve in the water from Celestino’s kettle. He and Victor are both crammed into the rink’s tiny kitchenette, and the only sound audible is that of the metal teaspoon clinking against the porcelain sides of the mugs. Victor is a tense wall of silence at his side.

Yuuri hands him a mug of hot chocolate, and Victor accepts it. He makes no move to drink, not that Yuuri blames him. The smell is distinctly watery, a shallow sweetness that Yuuri cannot find it in himself to describe as appealing in any fashion.

Phichit would know what to do, Yuuri thinks as he watches Victor. As out of his depth as he feels, though, Yuuri doesn’t want to call Phichit for this.

He pushes back the instinctual panic, and forces his eyes onto the drink in front of him. He tries to reach for the right words to say, but can’t find them.

“When I was fourteen,” he eventually says, “my boots literally fell apart as I was skating at Junior Nationals. It was this whole—thing, I guess. A lot of people high up in the Japanese skating community had a lot to say about it, anyway.”

 _A disgrace,_ he remembers. _Second-hand equipment at this_ _level?_

Yuuri adjusts his grip on the mug. “Anyway, a week later, on my birthday, a famous Japanese skater stopped by my house to donate a pair of his old skates to me. He didn’t even know my name, and I just felt—humiliated. And foolish. Of course he wasn’t going to know my name. I couldn’t even crack top five when I skated at Junior Nationals – it wasn’t like he had to be concerned about me becoming _competition_. I was just a second-rate skater who couldn’t even afford to buy new skates. And I felt angry, because he had taken this thing I was deeply ashamed of and he’d turned it into a—a human interest piece in a magazine.”

Yuuri looks up. Victor is staring at him, listening. Yuuri looks back down.

“When I looked at the saktes he’d given me afterwards, all of those feelings came back,” he says. “I didn’t want to skate in them. In fact, I wanted to throw them out, but they were all I had. My family didn’t have much money. My parents would have thought I was being a brat if I asked for new skates after that.”

“So what happened?” Victor asks.

Yuuri feels his fingers tighten around the mug and forces them to relax. “What happened is that I skated in those boots every remaining day of my junior career. They were top of the line, and they held up really well. I was still skating in them when Celestino took me on as a student, and he decided that newer boots would help with my jumps.

“It was awful. He took me out to this store and I tried on this pair of boots, and they were so nice. I wanted them so badly, but I knew I could never afford them. I kept trying to make the money work in my head, but they were just too expensive, especially as I’d have to buy new blades as well. Celestino saw I liked them, and got the assistant to start ringing up the purchase, but all I could think of was the humiliation I’d face at the till when I didn’t have enough money. We got to the till and Celestino shook his head at me, then paid for them instead.

“He made it…” Yuuri looks up from his drink and meets Victor’s eyes. “It was like it wasn’t a big deal. Like they were just skates. He even said that. ‘Yuuri, calm down. They’re just skates.’ But they weren’t. Not to me.

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is that whatever’s bothering you – it doesn’t matter if it’s small, or insignificant, or you feel like an idiot for caring about it. What matters is that it’s bothering you. And I know it’s probably not what you want, but if you need someone to talk to, that can be me.”

Victor stares back at Yuuri, and then he smiles sadly. “You are a very kind person, aren’t you?” he says. “I don’t think I’m like you, in that way.”

He places his mug, still full of liquid, on the counter to his side. “Yakov Feltsman is the best figure skating coach in Russia, and everyone knows it. He could walk into any rink in Russia, point at a skater, and they would pack up their things and head to St Petersburg to train under him. That was me, when I was sixteen. I was that skater.

“Last year, I saw you skate at the Olympics. I didn’t want to go – I hated watching skating competitions that I wasn’t taking part in – but Yakov had bundled me up and sent me along because it was character building, or something. I was in the crowd when you came out onto the ice for your short program, just as Yuri was leaving, and everyone was still screaming his name. You jumped a triple loop just to shut them up.”

Yuuri—Yuuri remembers that. The screams had been bothering him – _Yuri, Yuri, Yuri,_ so similar to his own name – so he had looked to Celestino and then—jumped. He was mortified by his own cockiness afterwards, but Celestino just laughed.

It probably would have been worse if he hadn’t set a world record that skate.

“When your program started,” Victor says, “I couldn’t look away. I don’t know if you have any idea what you look like out there, but it’s amazing. It was all I could think of, skating like you, the way you just seem to _be_ the music.

“I took gold at World Juniors that year. It was my first proper gold medal – I hadn’t even taken gold at Junior Nationals before. And it was because of you – you inspired me so much. You still do.”

There is something like earnest admiration in Victor’s eyes, and Yuuri can’t handle it. He drops his gaze.

Victor inhales. “But last season I did—something stupid. A bunch of stupid things. To begin with, it wasn’t a big deal objectively, but I was just so—unhappy. All I could think of was what people would say if they found out, of what they’d think of me, and it just—infected everything. My skating suffered. I barely made it into the Junior Grand Prix Final, and I was all over the place at Junior Nationals. I didn’t want to tell Yakov, but it became inevitable in the end. And he just—he made me feel trivial. And I didn’t want to feel like that again. Not because of my coach.

“So,” Victor says, “there’s probably going to be an article in the press in a few days, stating that I’ve severed my contract with Yakov. And probably speculating that I’ve decided to retire.”

There are a thousand things Yuuri could say in return to that story, but what comes out of his mouth is, “Are you retiring?”

Victor shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Yuuri thinks of Hasetsu, and he thinks of _what a waste_ , and he thinks of Katsudon that doesn’t taste right on his tongue. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Victor nods.

“Do you still love skating?” Victor blinks at him, but Yuuri isn’t done yet. “Because if you do, please don’t retire. Figure skating shouldn’t be about your coach, or your potential, or even—me. None of those things matter. Just make the choice that will bring you closer to what you love.”

Three years ago, on the tail end of an unexpected success, Yuuri got to the right answer after months of hating himself for not having it already. It was fine in the end, but he wishes someone had asked him the question to go along with it first.

\--

At last season’s Junior Worlds, Victor Nikiforov skated his free program clean for the first time. The high base score of the routine, bolstered by positive grades of execution on all his jumps, earned him his second year as Junior World Champion. Yuuri makes himself watch it over and over again.

He thinks he can almost see what Yakov saw in Victor. The jumps are what sell the program, truly, but Victor is more than passable in most other areas. His spins are sharp and fast, his choreography fluid, and his step sequence hides most of the inadequacies in Victor’s edge control. It’s a program that has been tailored to Victor specifically.

It’s the most insincere thing Yuuri has ever seen.

That’s it. That’s what rankles most about Victor’s skating. It’s good, but there’s something infuriating about the idea he thinks it’s good enough to fool a panel of judges, to fool _Yuuri_.

Yuuri goes back a year and watches Victor’s program at 2014 Junior Worlds. It’s both better and worse. Unlike the next year’s program, what sells this one is Victor himself – it’s an impish, delighted piece, and Victor grins his way through the entire thing. None of his elements are nearly as polished as they could be, but it’s _fun_. It’s not ostentatious, or showy – it’s an invitation. _Come on, enjoy yourself, laugh, dance, **live** —_

A china mug of coffee is slammed onto the table in front of Yuuri. He drops his phone, yanking out his earphones, and manages to lock the screen before the newcomer sits down.

“God,” Yuri Plisetsky says, crashing down into the seat opposite Yuuri. “I can’t believe you _buy_ this overpriced swill.”

Yuuri raises one eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who told me to pick a place to meet and talk.”

Yuri just rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says dismissively.

Yuuri sighs. “What did you want to talk about, Yuri?”

“We’ve all seen the articles, Yuuri, and you’re fooling absolutely no-one with this ‘one season off’ bullshit,” Yuri says. “But that’s whatever. You want to trash your own career, you do it however you want.”

Yuuri takes a sip of his tea. “It’s just a season off, Yuri.”

“Like I said,” Yuri replies, “I don’t give a shit. What I do care about is Victor. So you better not—”

“Quit prevaricating, Yuri,” Yuuri interrupts him. “You didn’t dig up my number for the first time in years so that you could threaten me over your ex-rink-mate. What is this about?”

Yuri stares him down, lips twitching in what Yuuri guesses is anger. It’s always anger with Yuri.

The Russian man sighs and breaks the gaze. “Victor left some stuff in Russia,” he says. “Stuff he’d want.”

“So?” Yuuri asks. “You saw him last night. Just give it to him.”

Yuri rolls his eyes again. “He’s turned off his phone, I don’t know where he’s staying, and quite frankly, I have better things to do than stake out a shitty university hockey rink. Some of us still have practice, being active competitive skaters and all.”

Yuuri ignores the jab, as he has grown accustomed to over his acquaintance with Yuri. “Fine,” he says. “Give me the things. I’ll get them to him.”

Yuri stands and removes the kit-bag he was carrying from the back of his chair. He drops it on the floor next to Yuuri’s feet. For a moment it looks like he’s going to leave, but he hesitates.

“Yuuri,” he says. “At the Olympics…” he trails off.

Ah. Yuuri was wondering if they were ever going to talk about that. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” he says.

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask, fuckface!” Yuri snaps immediately.

Yuuri bites his tongue.

“Just…” Yuri sighs. “Was it just wrong time, wrong place, or…”

Yuuri stares at him. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. “Yuri, you drank half a bottle of vodka, told me your grandfather was dead, and then you—”

“I know what happened, shithead,” Yuri spits. “I’m not the one who uses amnesia as an excuse when I get drunk.”

“Yuri, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.”

Yuri stares at him, quiet and incensed. Then, he shakes his head. “It fucking better just be one season, Yuuri.”

Yuuri watches him go and then looks back to Yuri’s coffee. It’s untouched, still steaming on the table.

When he reaches for the kit bag to go, it’s heavier than he was expecting. It’s not hard to guess where the weight comes from. Trust Yuri to fly across the Atlantic Ocean just to drop off a spare pair of skates.

\--

 **On Ice! News** @news_onice  
Top Russian figure skating coach, Yakov Feltsman, confirms that he and Victor Nikiforov have parted ways: http://t.co/xxxxxxx

 **Jen** @jenna_gem  
Jesus Christ, I really hope he knows what he’s doing.

 **born to win** @katsudonyou  
Part of me isn’t surprised, what with how the last season went for Victor, but wow. Splitting from Yakov is a bold move.

 **Silver Skate News** @SilverSkate  
Yuri Plisetsky on Feltsman-Nikiforov split: “Now I truly won’t have any reservations about crushing Victor in the Grand Prix.” http://t.co/xxxxxxx

 **Mila Babicheva** @milababicheva  
Sometimes coach-skater partnerships don’t work out, but I am very sad to see @vnikiforov go. Wishing you all the best in the future!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MEANWHILE...
> 
> **Phichit Chulanont**
> 
> Yesterday at 21:14 
> 
> Remember to bring your spare  
>  skates to tomorrow’s training  
>  session so that I can pack  
>  them in my luggage. 
> 
> ???? 
> 
> oh shit nationals 
> 
> hahaha i totally remembered  
>  those were happening and  
>  didnt forget hahaha 
> 
> Just bring the skates, Phichit. 
> 
> Today at 5:43 
> 
> Remember: skates. 
> 
> yes yes yes i know u literally  
>  texted me a reminder less  
>  than eight hours ago 
> 
> Your track record for  
>  remembering important things  
>  is not stellar, Phichit. 
> 
> wow u forget ur own countrys  
>  nationals one time and no one  
>  ever lets you live it down 
> 
> [IMAGE]  
>  look the skates are in my kit  
>  bag are u satisfied yet 
> 
> Don’t forget your kit bag. 
> 
> theres no pleasing u is there 


	8. ignis aurum probat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January to March, in 2012, as Yuuri struggles with his mental health, the future, and what it is, exactly, he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "ignis aurum probat" = fire tests gold
> 
> (28-Mar-17) Changed Yuuri's SP score from GPF '11 so that it is mathematically possible to achieve with his elements! (Credit goes to Lee for catching this :D)

**goldenpopovich**

holy. shit.

98.76 POINTS??? 49.64 PCS???!??!

what the actual fuck

 **7 Notes** source: goldenpopovich    #gpf 2011 #yuuri katsuki #really what the fuck

 

**skatingmila**

WTF is up with that PCS? Inflated as FUCK

 **10 Notes** source: skatingmila    #grand prix final 2011 #gpf11 lb

 

**lovelymaesan**

oh my goddddd i don’t even know what to say

so proud of yuuri-kun for his sp every last bit of that score was deserved

 **12 Notes** source: lovelymaesan    #gpf 2011 #gpf lb #yuuri katsuki #knew he could do it #fuck you everyone who said he had no shot at the podium #how does it feel to be WRONG??

 

[IMAGE]

**figureskatebulletin**

Japanese skater, Yuuri Katsuki, unexpectedly shot to the top of the leader board after a stunning short program performance. His score for the program was 98.76, with a record-setting PCS of 49.64.

Read More

**35 Notes** source: figureskatebulletin    #grand prix final 2011 #yuuri katsuki #figure skating

\--

“Yuuri. Yuuri, look at me. I know you can hear the roaring of the crowd, and the people behind me, but I need you to focus on my voice. You’re not here because you have something to prove. It isn’t medal or bust. You’re here for one reason only, Yuuri: because you love it. You can feel the cold of the rink beneath your feet, can’t you? This is where you belong.”

\--

 **Figure Skating** ** >> Men’s Singles >> GPF 2011 Discussion Post **

Page 3 of 4 [< Prev] [1] [2] **[3]** [4] [Next  >]

**SkatingQueen83**

Predictions for the GPF:

1 Georgi Popovich/Yuri Plisetsky (could go either way)  
3 Jean-Jacques Leroy  
4 Christophe Giacometti  
5 Otabek Altin  
6 Yuuri Katsuki

I would have placed Altin higher, but he’s been all over the place this season, and both Leroy and Giacometti have been stepping up their game. I’ll admit I don’t know much about Yuuri Katsuki, but it kind of feels like Japan pushed him into competing at this level to try and replace the hole left by Yasuo Maeda. From what I’ve seen he is nowhere near as strong a skater as the other five.

**francophile**

Eh I dunno, JJ has a tendency to choke when it counts, whereas Chris tends to keep his cool. And I definitely don’t think Plisetsky has it in him to take down Popovich this year, not yet. So:

1 Georgi Popovich  
2 Yuri Plisetsky  
3 Christophe Giacometti  
4 Jean-Jacques Leroy/Otabek Altin (Otabek does well/JJ chokes)  
6 Yuuri Katsuki

**Chazzzzz**

Oh thank God finally someone said it. I was reading this other forum where they were all talking about how Yuuri Katsuki is the next Yasuo Maeda and I’m just here like where did you get THAT idea? Yuuri Katsuki hasn’t even won a National championship yet, even in Juniors. He doesn’t have a single medal to his name that counts, and he got through to the final on sheer luck from his assignments. He isn’t getting anywhere NEAR the podium.

\--

“Forget Yuri Plisetsky, forget Jean-Jacques Leroy, even forget Georgi Popovich – for the next three minutes, it’s not about any of them. It’s about you. Don’t let anyone take their eyes off you, not even for a second.”

\--

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him skate like this – not in the qualifiers, not even in the warm-ups. Watch him on the toe loop here – perfect. So very, very clean. If you’d told me I would be seeing this just a few months ago, I would have called you a liar, but you know what, Michael? I think he’s going to do it. I think he’s going to crack the podium. Maybe not with gold, maybe not even with silver, but with a medal nonetheless.”

\--B. Esp commentators on Yuuri Katsuki.

 **201 Notes**     source: cao-bin-of-china    #gpf 2011 #yuuri katsuki #can jim see the future? we will never know #<3 b.esp commentators

\--

“Yuuri? Make me proud.”

\--

**January 2012**

Yuuri’s alarm sounds at 5:15 am, cutting through the silence of his room. He listens to it ring, gratingly loud, and stares up at the ceiling above him. He feels unrested and hyperaware, a foreign body forced into an unfamiliar space.

His alarm continues to ring.

 _Get up_ , he tells himself. _Get up._

He doesn’t. Instead, he shifts under his covers, wrapping them around himself tighter as if it will crush the rippling unease beneath his skin into cooperation.

 _Get up,_ he tells himself again. _Celestino will be waiting for you at the rink._

The thought makes Yuuri wince. It’s like his brain can’t decide which is the worse prospect – baiting Celestino into conversation by turning up to practice, or baiting him into disapproval by skipping it altogether.

 _Mum and Mari-nee will know you didn’t go,_ he tries instead. _They’ll see you at breakfast and they’ll be disappointed in you. Get up. Get up, you **fraud**. _

Yuuri throws the covers off his legs and swings them out of bed too fast to hesitate. He makes himself spring off the mattress and across the room, slamming his hand down on the alarm clock as he goes. Immediately, the unease spikes, and he wants to return to bed, wrapped in evermore tighter covers, but he refuses to. He’s already up. He has a rule about going back to bed before night.

Yuuri’s routine before morning skating practice is sparse. He finds it hard to keep anything substantial down early in the mornings, and he only eats to settle his stomach. An apple and a slice of dry toast are all he really needs.

He throws on his training clothes – Mizuno from head to toe, due to a sponsorship deal that came in bare days before the GPF – and grabs his kit bag and school satchel. He dropped one of his sets of uniform at the rink the night before, and he’ll change into that immediately after practice and a shower.

It all feels easier when he’s able to start running. The tarmac beneath his feet is satisfyingly solid, and as each step jolts up his legs, he finds his mind settling into a comfortable equilibrium of white noise on white noise. It’s almost over too soon, when he rounds the final corner to the rink and sees Celestino waiting outside, tapping buttons on his obnoxious smartphone.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Celestino says without looking up.

Yuuri shifts, and the unease creeps back in. By the time Celestino puts away his phone, Yuuri is a tightly wound spring, and his legs feel weak. _It’s just the lactic acid,_ he tells himself. _It’s just the lactic acid._

Celestino doesn’t notice – or if he does, he chooses not to say anything. “Quad sal today,” he says cheerfully, reaching for the rink door. “And then I have a proposition for you.”

Yuuri doesn’t say, _There’s no point working on my salchow if I’m never going to compete again._ He doesn’t say, _You should have gone back to America already._ He doesn’t say, _It’s because you use words like proposition that it took me so long to figure out how to communicate with you._

He says, “Yes, coach.”

And that’s that.

\--

 **Figure Skating** ** >> Men’s Singles >> Yuuri Katsuki FC **

Page 17 of 25 [< Prev] [1] [2] [3] … [16] **[17]** [18] … [23] [24] [25] [Next  >]

**PuckIt**

But can we all just stop for a minute and appreciate the look on this Japanese reporter’s face when he gets to shake Yuuri-kun’s hand after the medal’s ceremony?

[IMAGE]

It’s kind of hard to tell who’s more psyched about the medal, hahaha.

**ACEofJapan**

 

 

> _this Japanese reporter’s face_

I’m laughing so hard that’s not just some random reporter that’s Hisashi Morooka he’s like Yuuri Trash #1

**iceiceskating**

You can tell that someone’s new to the fandom when they don’t know about Morooka’s massive skating crush on Yuuri-kun LOL

\--

Hasetsu is not a small town, but it often feels like it is. It’s a side effect of its origins; the city itself was formed out of a hodgepodge of smaller towns and villages that gradually sprawled into each other. Mikiko has lived here nearly her entire life, and she still hasn’t decided whether she loves it or hates it.

Gossip is a currency of its own in Hasetsu. It’s the type of place where you can drop a meal off at the house of a grieving widower, before turning around to text your friends that you’re pretty sure he didn’t know about the lengthy affair his deceased wife had been engaged in with his best friend. In fact, that sort of behaviour is almost outright encouraged. Sure, everyone likes to pretend that it’s none of their business, and that they’d never overstep, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to _know_.

It’s hypocritical to the extreme, but Mikiko isn’t going to be the one to point that out.

In that vein, Katsuki Yuuri is pretty well-known. Whenever someone from Hasetsu makes it big – or even just bigger, as the case may be – the whole city swells up in second-hand pride. They’re an entire settlement of figure skating converts, brought slowly around over the years since Katsuki-kun first made it through the regional qualifying blocks to Junior Nationals in 2008.

And now, well. Silver at the Grand Prix Final? That’s really something.

Mikiko herself knows Katsuki-kun rather well. She’s taught him for nearly three years, and taught his elder sister for two before that. The less said about the sister, the better, but Katsuki-kun is a relatively easy student. He’s standoffish, yes, and barely manages to stay awake during class on his good days, but he’s respectful and quiet and, really, after the hurricane of malcontent his sister was, Mikiko is glad for just that.

An asocial athlete and a delinquent: Mikiko still hasn’t figured out if their parents deserve her censure or her pity.

“Miura-sensei?”

Mikiko turns her chair towards the door. Katsuki-kun looks drawn and miserable in the doorway to the staffroom, just the same as he has ever since he got back from All-Japan in December. It was a disheartening competition to watch, not least because everyone knew he was slated for gold.

“Katsuki-kun, come in,” Mikiko says, pulling out a stool for him to perch on. “I’ll try not to keep you long – I know your coach works you hard.”

That’s an understatement, if Katsuki-kun’s napping habits are anything to go by.

He shuffles into the room, shoulders hunched low, and drops onto the stool in front of her.

“I wanted to talk to you about university,” Mikiko says, and watches him stiffen in response to the words. “Most universities hold entrance exams in a few weeks’ time, and it’s not too late to gain a last minute place in them. You have the grades for it, and your figure skating will look very attractive on any applications you make. It’s a real possibility for you, and I don’t want you to discount it without seriously considering it.”

Katsuki-kun’s head snaps up. “I don’t think—that is to say—”

“Figure skating is all well and good,” Mikiko cuts in, “but it’s not a career choice without risks. A university degree will give you greater financial security in the future.”

Katsuki-kun’s eyes flick over to the window, as if he’s considering jumping out of it to get away from this conversation. It’s not as wild an idea as it first seems – they’re on the ground floor. He doesn’t move from his seat, though.

Eventually, he says, “But I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

He looks down at his lap. “I don’t have the grades for it.”

Mikiko sighs. “Katsuki-kun, how many hours do you train a day?”

He looks up and blinks. “Four.”

“And if you were to include conditioning and other off-ice training?” she presses.

A grimace twists at his mouth. “Five to six.”

“Do you know how much your grades improved this year when you were removed from sports classes and given independent study in the library?” Mikiko asks. “You jumped twenty placements in the class rankings. Twenty. That’s not mentioning the fact that you have spent the majority of the past year _napping_ through my English classes, and yet you test heads and shoulders above your classmates.”

Katsuki-kun’s eyes are boring into her now. “English is important,” he says. “My coach doesn’t speak Japanese.”

“The point is, Katsuki-kun, your grades are much, much better than they have any right to be.” Mikiko exhales. “Be honest with me: have you ever seriously thought about university?”

He’s still staring at her, quietly intense. Then, he looks away. “Yes,” he says.

“Did you look into any schools in particular?” Mikiko asks. “Waseda has a very good program for student athletes.”

“I can’t go to Waseda.”

Mikiko resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. One step forward, two steps back. For goodness’s sake. “Katsuki-kun, we just talked about this. With your grades and your figure skating, there aren’t many universities in Japan that will turn you down.”

“It’s—” Katsuki-kun shifts on the stool. “Can I think about it?”

Mikiko recognises a deflection when she sees it, but honestly, what is she supposed to say? No, don’t think about your future education?

“Of course you can,” Mikiko says. “Don’t take too long, though.”

Katsuki-kun nods stiffly. “Thank you, Miura-sensei.”

As he leaves, Mikiko can’t help but feel that he’s not going to think about it at all.

\--

_From Wikipedia, the free encyclopaedia_

**2011-12 season: Senior international debut**

After making his junior international debut the season previous, Katsuki switched coaches from Asa Nakamura to Celestino Cialdini, a former Olympian. Cialdini announced that Katsuki would not be competing in any junior events this season, changing entirely to senior level events. [5]

A high-scoring finish at a domestic event in Japan prompted the JSF to nominate Katsuki as one of their men’s singles skaters for the Japan Open. [6] During his free program, Katsuki suffered deductions for a fall on his quad toe, and an unclear edge on his triple flip. He finished fourth in his event, behind Jean-Jacques Leroy, Christophe Giacometti, and World Champion Georgi Popovich.[7][8]

As one of the top six junior skaters from the previous season, Katsuki was assigned one event in the Grand Prix, the Cup of China. He finished third in the short program, and fourth in the free skate, in order to place third overall.[9] In interviews afterward, Katsuki claimed that he had felt stiff throughout both of his programs, and he felt that this had affected his performance. [ ** _citation needed_** ]

Following his showing at the Cup of China, it was announced that Katsuki would be one of the host-picks for the NHK Trophy.[10] Katsuki skated strongly, finishing third in the short program, and third again in the free skate, to earn another bronze medal and to qualify for the Grand Prix Final in Quebec City, Canada.[11]

At the Grand Prix Final, Katsuki finished first in the short program with a score of 98.76, and second in the free skate with a score of 185.25. He came second overall, with a combined score that was just 0.89 points below that of the gold medal winner, Georgi Popovich.[12][13][14]

Katsuki appeared at the All-Japan Figure Skating Championships, in Kadoma, where he finished second overall. He stated afterwards that he was disappointed with his performance.[15]

\--

 **From:** Nishigori Yuuko  
**To:** Katsuki Yuuri  
**Sub:** Re: Re: I MADE PEOPLE

[IMAGE]

They miss their godfather (ノД`)・゜・。

 

 **From:** Katsuki Yuuri  
**To:** Nishigori Yuuko  
**Sub:** Re: Re: Re: I MADE PEOPLE

This is blatant emotional manipulation.

 

 **From:** Nishigori Yuuko  
**To:** Katsuki Yuuri  
**Sub:** Re: Re: Re: Re: I MADE PEOPLE

It’s the only type of emotional manipulation that works on you. Come on, they miss you.

[IMAGE]

Look at this face. What sort of monster says no to that sort of face?

 

 **From:** Katsuki Yuuri  
**To:** Nishigori Yuuko  
**Sub:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: I MADE PEOPLE

You’re a terrible person. I’ll see you this Saturday.

 

 **From:** Nishigori Yuuko  
**To:** Katsuki Yuuri  
**Sub:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: I MADE PEOPLE

[IMAGE]

They’re excited!!

 

 **From:** Katsuki Yuuri  
**To:** Nishigori Yuuko  
**Sub:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: I MADE PEOPLE

A. Terrible. Person.

\--

Yuuri stares at the photo Yuuko sent him of the triplets for a very long time. They were born in April last year, Yuuko’s water breaking as she watched Yuuri run through the first concept of his short program. Yuuri will never forget the look on Celestino’s face as he realised what had happened.

The true terror of it all hadn’t seeped in for Yuuri until hours later, when Yuuko had tiredly handed him one of her children, and told him he was the godfather. He’d blinked dumbly and asked, “For all of them?”

Yes, he was told, for all of them. Axel, Lutz, and Loop – nicknames, given to the triplets when they were still in the womb, and neither Yuuko nor Nishigori knew their genders. Yuuko still won’t tell him their real names.

Still, it feels like just yesterday that Yuuko was the town scandal, the high school girl who was reckless enough to get herself knocked up. Yuuri got his first detention of the year for holding back Yuuko’s hair in the girls bathroom at school, when morning sickness was at its worst. He also inadvertently started the ridiculous rumour that he was the father when he blushingly bought her a pregnancy test at the local pharmacy, prompting his mother and father to sit him down and very sincerely ask him if there was something he wanted to share.

Nishigori still finds that hilarious.

It’s like—whiplash. Like, Yuuri looked away for just a second, and Yuuko somehow transformed from a stupid teenager, stupidly in love with the asshole who single-handedly destroyed Yuuri’s childhood self-esteem, into a mother of three, and a wife to the decent guy that that asshole grew up into. And what does Yuuri have to show for that second? A quadruple toe loop that he’s only just managed to make consistent, and two silver medals that alternately feel like a fluke and a fuck-up.

Looking at them makes Yuuri feel like he’s running out of time, and he doesn’t even know what for. He wants to ask them to slow down, but even he doesn’t understand what that means.

Yuuri makes himself put his phone down and focus on his dinner. When he was younger, his mother used to tell him that there was nothing a warm meal and a hot drink couldn’t fix. He was six and he believed her.

He wants that childish naivety back. He wants to look at his dinner without thinking about calorific intake, and crushing the impulse to eat and eat and eat until the decision about retiring from skating is made for him by his weight.

He eats mechanically, chewing and swallowing in distinct counts. The food is bland and it doesn’t so much slip down his throat as it crawls.

Celestino wants to _move._ Back to America, which is an ocean away from Japan, and he wants to take Yuuri with him. And Miura-sensei wants him to go to _Waseda_ , which is in Tokyo, not to mention utterly ridiculous. Skaters like Arisawa Hatsuho, the woman who won Japan’s first gold medal in figure skating at the Olympics – they’re the type of people who go to Waseda. Not Katsuki Yuuri.

“You finished with that, Yuuri?”

Yuuri looks up at his sister, and then down at the empty bowl in front of him. He doesn’t know when he finished eating. “Yes,” he says. “Sorry.”

Mari shakes her head. “You’re way too spacey these days,” she says. “Today’s one of your days off from ballet, right? Get some sleep.”

Yuuri forces a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

He only sleeps five hours that night, before his alarm jolts him back to wakefulness.

\--

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
As someone who lives in Japan, nothing amuses me more than people talking about Yuuri Katsuki as if he came out of nowhere. (1/?)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
He’s not some baby skater the JSF plucked out of the countryside and FedEx’d to the ISU. He’s a well-respected athlete. (2/?)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
Even not mentioning his #iconic Lohengrin program last season (that step sequence, holy shit), he’s done plenty this season already. (3/?)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
The JSF has literally been losing their shit over Katsuki since he trounced every skater in the south of Japan in September. (4/?)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
And I do mean TROUNCED. He was over 40 points clear of the closest competitor. FORTY. FOUR-ZERO. (5/?)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
Those scores were world class, and basically took his previous PB and laughed in its face. Videos of the programs went viral. (6/?)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
He competed at the Japan Open, against the current World Champion, and he came 4 th. That was his senior international debut. (7/?)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
This isn’t just beginner’s luck: Katsuki has been gearing up for his silver medal all season. (8/9)

 **Lily Watanabe** @lily_w_11100  
Don’t blame us because you were all too dense to see it coming. (9/9)

\--

**February 2012**

Mari has been playing hide and seek with her brother for almost as long as he has been alive. When he was smaller, he’d cram himself into whatever tiny space he could find, and Mari would end up dispatched by their parents to locate him. She’s found him packed between the rocks in the onsen, curled inside a locker at the Ice Castle, and, on one memorable occasion, underneath their neighbour’s parked car.

When Yuuri got older, he found other ways to block the world out. Dancing came first, and then skating. Minako was good for him in that regard, Mari supposes; she was probably the very first person to ever truly _get_ it.

Mari pushes open the door to Minako’s studio, unsurprised to find it already unlocked. Minako gave Yuuri a key years ago, around the same time that Mari taught him that a locked door wasn’t much of an impediment if you had the right tools.

Yuuri is lying on the floor when Mari enters, headphones on his ears and eyes closed. She stops there, for just a second, watching. Yuuri’s been… off, ever since he got back to Hasetsu in December. Though, to be fair, Mari’s not sure how she personally would react to becoming a local celebrity.

Eventually, Yuuri opens his eyes. He sits up, pulling the headphones off his ears, and then freezes. “Mari-nee, when did you…”

Mari digs in her pockets and throws a flip phone at him. “Take your mobile with you when you go out, Yuuri,” she says. “Mum’s been trying to call you for an hour.”

Yuuri catches the phone.

“You’ve been all over the place lately, little brother,” Mari says. “Star power going to your head?”

Yuuri’s head snaps up. “You think that?”

“What?” Mari shakes her head. “No, of course not. What’s going on with you, Yuuri? Is it about Nationals? A silver medal isn’t bad.”

He drops his gaze. “It should have been gold.”

Mari can’t deny that. “Is that what this is all about?”

“No, not really,” Yuuri says. “Just—brain won’t shut up.”

“Oh,” Mari says, dropping down to sit on the floor near Yuuri. “It’s not—it isn’t like—”

—Last year, when Yuuri spent an entire night at the rink skating, and called Mari in a frenzy the next morning because he couldn’t remember the way home. He’d begged her not to tell anyone and she’d been so worried about him that she’d made that promise. A month later, she watched him get on a plane to Korea and wished she hadn’t.

More than anything else, Mari misses the days when she could punch Yuuri’s demons in the face.

Yuuri is quiet for a long while. “No,” he finally says. “No, it’s not like last January. I’m… I’m thinking about retiring.”

Retiring. Like he’s long past sixty, not two years past sixteen.

He misreads her silence. “Is it really such a surprise?” he asks. “This was meant to be my last season, anyway.”

Now _that_ does blindside Mari. “Your last season?” she echoes. “When did you decide that?”

“A while ago.”

Yuuri doesn’t make big decisions out of nowhere – he procrastinates on his choices either until either the last minute or until something earth-shattering happens and his world-view is rocked. Korea, Mari thinks. It must have been after Korea last year. The big competition where he came fourth.

“Did you tell Celestino that?” Mari asks.

“He knows. He knew from the start.”

Which means that Celestino had thought he could convince Yuuri to keep skating. A bold move on his part, as the only person who has ever been able to out-stubborn Yuuri is Mari herself, and even then her record is spotty.

Mari sighs. “I can’t tell you what to do, Yuuri,” she says. “You get that, right? It’s your decision. But, you do know that Mum, Dad, and I – we don’t care what you choose. You’ll still be my baby brother even if you never set foot on an ice rink again.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, but he nods once, movement jerky.

Mari watches him for a few more minutes. Then she sighs again. “But this isn’t the reason I came to find you. There’s someone at the onsen who’s asking to see you. He swears up and down that you’ve met before, but if it’s some creepy fan we can just call the police.”

Yuuri snorts at that. “I don’t think I’m quite at the yandere-stalker level of fame yet, Mari-nee.”

“Yet,” Mari teases. She stands up. “You good?”

Yuuri nods.

“Let’s go.”

\--

When Yuuri was competing in the Grand Prix Series, the commentators abroad made comparisons between him and Maeda Yasuo – not all of them flattering. Yuuri’s jumps lack the pizazz of Maeda’s, his performances the charisma, his demeanour the charm. He remembers warming up for the NHK Trophy, and thinking about how much easier it was to shed Maeda’s skates than his shadow.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says to Mari. “I know him.”

The Maeda of today doesn’t look anything like an unreachable standard. He dresses like a salaryman, actually, even if he still holds himself like a dancer. He meets Yuuri’s gaze unflinchingly.

Mari looks between them. “I’ll leave you two to it, then,” she says, but her tone implies she’s going to be waiting outside the door with a knife, if she’s needed.

The quiet glide of the door closing sounds impossibly loud in the room. Yuuri keeps staring at Maeda, throat burning. Finally, he lets himself say, “What, no cameras this time?”

Maeda quirks an eyebrow. “Why?” he asks delicately. “Do you need another pair of skates?”

Yuuri’s cheeks flush red, fists clenching. He opens his mouth to reply, but he can’t find the right words. If there are any.

“The JSF offered you a place at the 4CC,” Maeda says, business-like. “You turned them down. Why?”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Yuuri snaps, in a desperate urge to say _something_. He means for it to come out cold and superior, but instead it just feels petulant.

Maeda’s face twists in a way Yuuri can’t read. “Katsuki-kun, I—”

“You _humiliated_ me,” Yuuri cuts in, an awful cathartic truth. “You couldn’t even remember my name.”

For a moment, Yuuri thinks that Maeda will argue. He’s not really prepared for that, for a confrontation that will invalidate his anger and leave him feeling childish and small, but he doesn’t see how it can be avoided.

But Maeda doesn’t argue. Instead, he exhales. “That’s fair, I guess. For what it’s worth, I am sorry for that.” He exhales again. “Katsuki-kun, I don’t know how else to ask this, so I’m going to be blunt. Are you retiring?”

Yuuri stares at him, not caring how rude it seems. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“So you’re considering it?” Maeda shakes his head. “You can’t retire just yet, Katsuki-kun.”

“Why?” Yuuri retorts. “Because Japan needs me to be the next you?”

“Because it would be the worst kind of waste.”

 _A waste._ Like Yuuri has left some food on his plate, or something. _What a waste,_ like the shopkeepers used to say about bright, young Suga Yuuko, who ruined her future with a reckless teen pregnancy. _What a waste. What a waste. What a waste._

“I decide what is and isn’t a waste of my life,” Yuuri spits back. “No one else. Most certainly not you.”

Maeda stares at him. “I was told you were shy,” he says. It sounds like an accusation.

“I’m _angry_ at you,” Yuuri shouts. He startles himself with how loud his voice is. “This is not—you don’t have any right to give me your opinion like it’s worth something to me. It’s not.”

“I’ve already apologised,” Maeda says. “What more do you want from me?”

“I don’t want _anything_ from you.” Yuuri realises his fingernails are cutting into his palms and forces his hands to unclench. “I don’t care about your medals, about your word records – I don’t care about your vicarious fantasies of my future career. I just want you to leave me _alone_.”

“Vicarious fantasies of—” Maeda scrunches up his face. “You think I want to skate again?”

Of _course_ he wants to skate again. Anybody would, in his situation. It’s one thing to walk away from a skating career by choice, and another because injury forces you to.

Maeda laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound. “I gave everything I had and was to skating. _Everything_. And what did it give me in return? It broke my _brain_. Every time I lace up my boots and step towards the ice, I feel physically sick. I _never_ want to skate again.”

Yuuri—Yuuri doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that information. He stumbles for something to say, and comes across a hesitant question. “What do you want from me, then?”

“I want,” Maeda says, and then stops. “I want not to matter anymore. I want you to outperform and outclass me in every perceivable way. I want people to see that old picture of us together, of me handing you my skates, and I want them to say, ‘Who’s that older guy standing next to Katsuki Yuuri?’ I want you to make everything I ever did seem irrelevant.”

Yuuri feels like the ground has been pulled out from underneath him. “Gold,” he says. “At the Olympics.”

“Beyond that,” Maeda says. “I want you to smash every world record I ever came close to setting, and to smash them again just because you can. I want people to say that a silver against Katsuki Yuuri is as good as a gold anywhere else. I want you to dominate the podium.”

That’s—that’s insane. Yuuri isn’t even the best skater in Japan, and he wants— _this_?

Maeda laughs again. It’s just as grating as the first time. “Do you want to know what the commentators at TV Asahi called you at the Grand Prix Final, even before you skated? They called you Japan’s Young Ace. The JSF are so panicked at the prospect of you retiring that they called your coach every day for a week when you turned down the Four Continents.”

Celestino never told him that.

Panic bubbles in Yuuri’s chest. He’s not an _ace_. An ace is supposed to be someone dependable, someone consistent, and as much as Yuuri tries, that’s just not him. It’s like—he’s snow. Hard to predict, there when you don’t need it, absent when you want it – and sometimes, it falls out of the sky, only to melt into rain before it even hits the ground.

Maeda tilts his head at Yuuri. “You know, my manager was the one who made me come down and give you my skates, back in ’08.”

Yuuri doesn’t want to hear this story again, not when his thoughts are twisting around themselves.

“I thought it was a waste of time,” Maeda continues. “I’d seen you skate and, sure, getting out on the ice and skating in broken boots was admirable, but it was a stupid move, and you were lucky to walk away without injury. Your program didn’t do much to sell me on you, either. I thought you were beneath me.”

Maeda throws a glance at him and laughs again. Yuuri really wishes he wouldn’t.

“What a scary face,” Maeda says. “Here’s the thing, though: none of that matters anymore. You proved me wrong with a silver at the Grand Prix Final. You proved me wrong even before that, when you took fourth at Junior Worlds in South Korea. You tipped my expectations and thoughts about you upside down so well that I’ve travelled seven and a half hours by train to do whatever I can to talk you out of retiring.”

Maeda smiles the same shark-like smile that he used to wear when he skated. “Satisfying, isn’t it? To prove me wrong?”

 _I never wanted your attention,_ Yuuri wants to say, but that’s not the truth. He inhales once, a sketchy breath, and lets it out. He meets Maeda’s gaze dead on.

Maeda’s grin widens. “Right now, Katsuki-kun, the skating world is calling you a fluke. The Russians think you’re doping, the JSF can’t decide if you’re messing them around, and the rest of the world just figure that you’ve peaked and you’re going to fall into obscurity. It doesn’t matter if you agree with them for now, Katsuki-kun, because – just imagine, just for one moment, how _good_ it will feel to prove them wrong.”

Yuuri’s breath catches. _Don’t,_ he thinks, but he can’t help himself.

Maeda doesn’t look away. “That’s why you keep skating,” he says. “For that exact feeling.”

\--

Yuuko and Nishigori live in a cramped house about a ten minute walk away from the ice rink. Yuuri knows it’s not what Yuuko dreamed of when they were kids – he heard all about her dreams of a stunning apartment in Tokyo, a quick ride on the subway from the skating rink where she trained as a competitive skater – but she seems content. That’s so much more than Yuuri can say for himself.

“Yuuko! I can’t submit this!”

“Why?” Yuuko asks. “Is any of it a lie?”

They’re sitting opposite each other in her sitting room, small though it may be, as Nishigori settles the triplets for a nap. Yuuko looks relaxed and happy, which is basically the opposite of what Yuuri feels right now.

“That’s not the point,” he hisses. “They’ll think I’m arrogant. I can’t open my first sentence with ‘as a world class figure skater’.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got a silver medal from the Grand Prix Final that says you can, Yuuri.”

Yuuri turns around to shoot a disapproving look at Nishigori, who has just entered the room. He takes a seat next to Yuuko, reaching for the sheets of paper in front of her.

"Then I shouldn't," Yuuri says.

“With that kind of sentence, if you can, you absolutely should,” Nishigori says. “What’s this, anyway? University applications?” He looks up. “Is our local hero abandoning us?”

Yuuri feels a blush crawl up his neck. “Give that back.”

Nishigori doesn’t move. “I can’t read it anyway, Yuuri. It’s all in English. University in America, then?”

Yuuri shrugs. “Celestino wants to move back.”

Yuuko and Nishigori both freeze.

“Does,” Yuuko says slowly. “Does that mean you’re not retiring?”

Yuuri snatches the applications back. “I’m just keeping my options open,” he snaps, a touch too sharp. He gathers the papers together, just to have something to do with his hands.

“Mari-san told us not to bother you about it, but…”

Yuuri bites his lip. He’s trading heavily on his figure skating to get into university; he’s missed too many deadlines to have any other options. Celestino has been asking around for any universities that might want to make an exception for him, but the options he has are limited. It all feels like he’s driving himself into a corner with only one path forward.

Figure skating or bust.

“I’m just keeping my options open,” Yuuri repeats.

Yuuko smiles like she doesn’t believe him. “Keep the first sentence of your personal statement. Trust me. Americans are weird about ego.”

Nishigori laughs. “And you’d know?”

She smirks at him. “There are many things you don’t know about me, Nishigori Takeshi.”

“She dated an American tourist one summer,” Yuuri says absentmindedly. He looks down at the essays and applications in his hands. “For a given value of dated, I guess.”

“Yuuri!”

Nishigori laughs again.

 _Figure skating,_ Yuuri thinks, looking up and away from the mess of words on the pages, _or this._

\--

Celestino lowers the sheet of paper to his lap. “This is good,” he says. “Did you write this?”

Yuuri looks up from where he’s untying his boots. “Yuuko helped.” He manages to loosen the last row of laces, and tugs his boot off.

“That explains the first sentence,” Celestino says. “It did seem a little out of character.”

Yuuri shrugs, gently kneading his foot, before pulling on a sock. He moves to the other boot.

“I got your visa sorted, by the way,” Celestino goes on. “It should come through in about a month’s time. You’ll have to reapply for a student visa around May, though.”

There’s a pause. Yuuri’s other boot comes loose.

“Yuuri,” Celestino says carefully, “it’s not too late to back out. If you would feel more comfortable staying in Japan, I can look for a skate club to join here.”

Yuuri puts on his last sock and reaches for his trainers. “You said it would be easier to train me in America.”

“Because I have more contacts there, yes,” Celestino replies. “But Yuuri – there isn’t a skate club in Japan that would turn you down right now. We don’t have to leave.”

Yuuri’s hands falter on his laces. “I want to,” he says. He doesn’t look up. “Japan is…” he trails off, and settles on an alternate truth. “I don’t like the attention.”

There’s another stretch of silence. Yuuri’s hands don’t move.

“Yuuri,” Celestino says, “can I ask you a personal question? You don’t have to answer.”

Yuuri looks up. “What is it?”

“Do you have anxiety?”

 _Anxiety._ The shape of the word in his head is familiar. Like _anxious_ , but a noun. Yuuri frowns. “Right now?” he asks.

“In general,” Celestino says.

“I don’t understand.”

Celestino’s face is very carefully blank. “Do you think you feel anxious more often or to a more extreme degree than most other people?”

That sounds like it came out of a book. Is this—how long has Celestino been waiting to ask this question? Yuuri’s mouth suddenly feels very dry. “Coach,” he says urgently. “It’s not—I’m dealing with it. It’s under control. I swear.”

He wants to say, _You don’t have to worry._ He wants to say, _It won’t get in the way anymore._ He doesn’t try, though, because he knows that what inevitably comes out will be closer to, _Please don’t quit as my coach. I’m trying. I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I’m trying._

Celestino sighs. “Yuuri, you don’t have to ‘just deal with it’. Anxiety is treatable. If you talk to your doctor—”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “No.”

“They’ll be able to help, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s old coach took him to a doctor once, when he was younger. He was hyperventilating after finishing his free skate at a competition, Coach Nakamura panicked. Four hours later, the doctor they saw told Yuuri that they’d all overreacted. _Yuuri just needs to be more disciplined with himself,_ she’d said.

The way Coach Nakamura looked at him – it felt like she was saying, _I already knew that._

There’s too much open space in the rink.

“Yuuri,” Celestino says. It sounds like he’s talking through glass. “I’m worried about you, and I don’t know what I need to do to make sure you’re okay.”

_Stop worrying. You’re overreacting. It’s nothing dangerous._

_It won’t affect my skating. You don’t have to worry._

_I’m trying. I promise, I’m trying._

“Yuuri,” Celestino’s voice is a thunderclap in his ear. “Yuuri, this is not normal.”

Yuuri stares at the laces on his trainers, frayed completely at the ends by his hands. “I know,” he says. He makes himself tie them into some semblance of a bow, and makes himself stand. He feels like he’s come unstuck from the world.

“Not in Japan,” he says quietly. “In America, maybe, just—not in Japan.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Yuuri,” Celestino says.

\--

 **The Melt: Episode Five – Senior Debuts, Silver Medals, and Yuuri Katsuki  
** February 28, 2012 | 01:13:54 | _Jake, Luke, and Lucia meet to talk about the mechanics of Senior debuts, and how Yuuri Katsuki came out of nowhere to win his silver medal._

 **Jake Gomez:** I don’t know, man. I don’t know. Junior Worlds last year was really tight around the podium – we’re talking three points between gold and fourth place. If Katsuki had had just _one_ quad in his free skate, even a badly executed one, he would have taken the title.

 **Luke Hendricks:** But he didn’t, is the point. Katsuki didn’t land a quad in competition until the Grand Prix Final – and putting that jump in there was a hell of a gamble for both him and his coach.

 **Lucia Lance:** You know what I think? I think it comes down to his coach.

 **LH:** What, Cialdini? I don’t know. He hasn’t got that great a record so far as coaching goes. A couple of students to Regionals, one to Nationals. That’s about it.

 **LL:** That’s not what I’m getting at. I think it’s less technical than that, more – psychological, I suppose. Katsuki choreographs his own programs, right? The commentators made a big deal out of that. And you can always see that in his skating – that deeply personal element. But there’s also a risk there, to underestimate yourself, to forget to push yourself.

 **JG:** His programs at Junior Worlds were really front-loaded now that I think about it. It did him a massive disservice – this is the guy who landed a quad toe triple to combination as his last element in his short, and he didn’t even look winded coming off the ice. That’s not someone who struggles with stamina.

 **LL:** Exactly. But this year, it’s like the kid gloves came off. Even without his quad triple combination in the short – he was skating a triple lutz in combination. For a skater who struggles with toe jumps, like Katsuki has said again and again, that’s ballsy. Not to mention how difficult that entry was. And I don’t think that was an element that Katsuki would have picked himself. I think that what Cialdini did differently – why Katsuki’s suddenly shot up the ranks this season – was he looked at Katsuki and he said, “Yes, you’re an artistic skater, but that’s not all you can be.”

 **LH:** And it’s hard to argue with the results.

\--

**March 2012**

Yuuri doesn’t watch the Junior World Championships when it airs, instead studying for his last set of exams. He places well, in thirteenth place overall, and first in English. It’s a pleasant enough surprise that he forgets to panic when he’s told he’s been chosen to speak at the graduation ceremony at the end of the month.

Unease seeps into him during the opening address, and festers through the National Anthem. This is it. It’s over. He’s never been particularly attached to his school, or to his classmates, but all the same the prospect of life without them is unbalancing.

The eyes of the girl next to him start to water during the mayor’s speech. She’s the student council president, and Yuuri still doesn’t know her name. He pretends he hasn’t noticed.

Yuuri’s speech itself is short and bland. He speaks in vague terms about learning qualities that will aid them in later life, and lies about making memories that will stay with him forever. It’s not meant to be poignant, or personal, but when he gets back to his seat, the student council president is furiously wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Maybe she just cries a lot. Yuuri can empathise.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. There are more speeches, and at some point, _Hotaru no Hikari_ is sung, but when it gets to the end, Yuuri realises he has a diploma in his hand, but no memory of being handed it.

He stands there for a moment, in the falling cherry blossoms outside the hall, staring down. It feels kind of fragile, in truth. Three years of his life, and it all comes down to his one sheet of paper.

“Yuuri, congratulations!”

Yuuri turns around. “Hey, Yuuko—what are you doing?”

With a firm yank, the second button of Yuuri’s uniform jacket comes loose. Yuuko pockets it. “You’ll thank me later, trust me,” she says. “I’ll give it to the triplets as a toy. Probably with some string attached. It’s the right size for them to swallow.”

Yuuri fingers the spot where his button used to be. “What if I had wanted to give that to someone?”

Yuuko quirks an eyebrow. “Well, do you?”

“No,” he admits.

“I thought so,” she says. “Look, this way, they’ll all think you’ve given it away and they’ll start fighting amongst themselves to find the lucky girl. It’ll give you time to escape unscathed.”

Yuuri eyes her. “You don’t have a very high opinion of the girls at this school, do you?”

“I don’t have a particularly high opinion of the boys, either,” Yuuko replies. “Except for you, of course. Come on, people are waiting for you around the front.” She grabs hold of his hand and begins to pull him across the school grounds.

Yuuri lets himself be dragged. “What about Mum and Dad?” he asks.

Yuuko looks over her shoulder. “They stayed for the ceremony, but they had to run afterwards. There’s going to be a big lunch rush soon, so they had to go and get things ready. They’re making katsudon.”

“But I haven’t won anything,” Yuuri points out.

“You just graduated, Yuuri,” Yuuko says. “That’s worth, like, at least five gold medals. Domestic, though. Not international.”

She pulls on his arm, but he pulls back, digging his feet in. She turns back to him.

“Yuu-chan,” he says. “Thank you. For being my friend.”

She smiles, and shakes her head. “That’s not something you thank someone for, Yuuri. It’s not a chore.”

It’s not hard to spot Mari around the front of school when they get there. Nishigori is there with the triplets and Minako, and—

“Why is Celestino here?”

Yuuko gives him a strange look. “Because he’s your coach and he’s proud of you?”

“But that’s for figure skating,” Yuuri points out weakly.

She sighs. “Yuuri, he’s proud of you. Let him have that.”

Yuuri looks at them all. Minako-sensei who taught him how to dance, and then set him on the ice without realising how much he would fall in love with it. Nishigori who used to come into work early to cover up the mess Yuuri made of the ice whenever he practised at midnight. Mari who threatened to beat up his childhood bullies, and kept his secrets when he needed her to. Yuuko, beside him, who changed his life, who taught him the Biellmann spin, who made him godfather of her children.

And—Celestino, who gave Yuuri a silver medal, when even he didn’t think he could.

Yuuri thinks he finally understands why that girl was crying all through the ceremony.

\--

Yuri Plisetsky’s short program at Worlds plays on the ice like a declaration of war. He skates like he’s screaming, movements aggressive through their grace, jumps high and steps a touch rough.

Yuuri watches it unfold, his stomach sinking in his abdomen. He couldn’t skate like that, even if he tried. There are two quads in the program, and though the salchow is coming easier to Yuuri than the toe loop did, it’s still months off being ready for competition.

He’s being left behind, yet again.

Behind him, the door slides open. “You still up? I thought you wanted an early night.”

Yuuri looks briefly over his shoulder at his sister. “I wanted to watch this.”

“Skating?” Mari says, shuffling further into the room and peering down at the video on Yuuri’s laptop. “Who’s that?”

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Yuuri answers. On screen, Plisetsky executes a perfect quadruple toe loop. “I skated against him at the Grand Prix Final.”

Mari tilts her head. “Huh. He kind of looks like Takao.”

It takes Yuuri a moment to place the name as one of the members of Mari’s favourite boyband. “How?” he asks. “He’s not Japanese.”

Mari shrugs just as the crowd launches into applause. “That was a good score, right?”

Yuuri watches Plisetsky embrace his coach, bowing to the crowd. The bottom of the screen shows his score: 100.63.

“It’s a world record,” Yuuri says. “PCS could be higher, though. His step sequence is probably what did it.” He allows himself one last look at Yuri Plisetsky, before he shuts his laptop lid. “Did Celestino get home all right?”

Mari shakes her head. “In the end, we just put him on a futon,” she says. “Minako and I carried him. You know, for someone who was surprisingly against you drinking, he didn’t half put it away. What was all that about, anyway?”

“He tried to feed me champagne to make me les nervous at the banquet after the Grand Prix Final, but it didn’t work so well,” Yuuri says. “I kind of just say in a corner drinking until I blacked out. Celestino had to carry me back to the room.”

Mari laughs. “Good job you missed Dad’s ‘rowdy drunk’ genes.”

“Yeah, thank God,” Yuuri shakes his head. “Can you imagine what would have happened if I’d started stripping off in front of sponsors?”

“It worked out pretty well for Mum and Dad, so you never know,” Mari says. “Maybe one of the guests would have fallen in love with you.”

Yuuri groans.

Mari grins. “No, think about it, Yuuri – you’re the newcomer, it’s your first Grand Prix Final, and as you down your sixteenth glass of champagne, you meet the eyes of Russian figure skating legend—”

“Please don’t.”

“Georgie Popovich! Heartbroken from his latest relationship—”

“His name’s _Georgi_ , and you can stop now.”

“He’s swept off his feet by the charming, half-naked Japanese man that—”

“This is awful,” Yuuri says. “You’re awful. Why are we related?”

Mari laughs. “In all seriousness,” she says, “I know things didn’t necessarily go the way you expected this season, but I’m proud of you. With or without drunken shenanigans and besotted Russians.”

Yuuri’s face feels hot. “Thanks, Mari-nee.”

She smiles. “Get some sleep. You have a long flight tomorrow.”

Yuuri watches her leave his room, then stares at the closed door.

He can still see the elements of Plisetsky’s short program in his head. Quad toe. Quad sal triple toe combination. Triple axel. Flying sit spin. Camel spin. Combination spin. All crisp.

God, Yuuri _wants._ Not just silver, but gold.

The Japanese skating forums used to call him the Junior Champion That Never Was. He entered Junior Nationals again and again as a favourite for gold, and he never even got close. Last year, he took fourth. He was first alternate, and not expecting to get pulled up and sent to Junior Worlds. But he did, and he took fourth yet again.

The Yuuri of last year would think him incredibly selfish, but fourth place isn’t enough. Second place isn’t even really enough. He wants gold. He wants 100 points in the short program. He wants what he skates to mean something to people. He wants—a ridiculous quad jump no one saw coming. He wants to leave Maeda Yasuo’s shadow in the dust.

 _Gold_ , he thinks. That’s his goal.

Yuuri inhales, exhales, and closes his eyes.

He only sleeps three hours before he jars back awake.

\--

**Among the Stars – Yuuri Katsuki**

As a world-class figure skater, I spend roughly four hours a day on the ice. The time I dedicate to my sport stacks up quickly: another hour each day for conditioning, an hour every other day for ballet and choreography practice, eight hours on the train either way to meet with the Japan Skating Federation in Tokyo, countless hours lost to flights to and from international competitions, press events and interviews, endorsements and sponsorships.

In spite of this, when it counts, it all comes down to less than ten minutes of performance. You stand on the ice, waiting for the music cue you know is coming, and you try not to think about the fact that everything is riding on the next five minutes of your life. Five minutes to show the judges and the audience exactly what kind of skater you are – who you are. Five minutes to strip off your mask and let them decide if you are worthy. If it sounds terrifying, that’s because it is.

I used to hate competing. Part of that, at least, is because I wasn’t particularly good at it. It took me until I was thirteen to win anything concrete, and until I was fourteen to reach the national stage in Japan. Even then, my record is littered with missed podiums: sixth place, fifth place, fourth.

Out of all those placings, fourth is my least favorite. Fourth place is a lesson in inadequacy – good, but no good enough – and it has haunted my career. I used to think I was never going to medal, that my skating career would boil down to nothing more than a string of reporters asking me how I felt about my performance, always with the sinking implication that I should have done better.

The question that leads on from here most naturally is, of course, “What changed?”

The truth is, I don’t know. The truth is, a middle-aged ex-Olympic pairs skater came to my hometown on vacation and saw something in me he wanted to nurture. The truth is, I worked myself to the bone to prepare for this season of figure skating. The truth is, I stopped holding things back from my sport, stopped looking for a mask to wear on the ice. The truth is, I went into the Grand Prix Final in December as the least decorated skater there, and I came out with a silver medal.

I didn’t suddenly want it more than I did before. I’d always wanted it, always hated to lose. The performance I had to give didn’t suddenly become less terrifying, or less personal. I didn’t suddenly have more hours in the day to train, to dance, to skate.

Figure skating is a sport where nothing comes for free. Every shred of grace, every rotation in every jump, every story ever told is paid for in exhaustion, in vulnerability, in mangled, bloody feet. And sometimes, sometimes, the cost of it all stacks up, and you have finally paid enough.

When you stand on that podium, though, and you see your country’s flag hung from the ceiling, you know without a doubt that it was all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT THE BANQUET…
> 
> Yuuri: Are you really sure this is okay?
> 
> Celestino: Drinking age is 18 in Quebec, Yuuri. And it’ll held you relax. Take the edge off a bit. I want you to be able to have fun tonight.
> 
> Yuuri: Well, okay.
> 
> THREE HOURS LATER, CARRYING HIS UNCONSCIOUS STUDENT TO THEIR ROOM, WITH THE HELP OF MILA BABICHEVA
> 
> Celestino: Yeah, this… This was not my brightest idea.  
>  
> 
> **Extras for this chapter**
> 
> [Yuuri's daily routine when in Hasetsu](http://daswarschonkaputt.tumblr.com/post/158673239446/from-chapter-8-of-constellations-yuuris-daily)
> 
> [Cut article by Hisashi Morooka](http://daswarschonkaputt.tumblr.com/post/158671733571/carrying-japans-hopes-to-the-grand-prix-final)
> 
> [Yuuri's short program scores](http://daswarschonkaputt.tumblr.com/post/158670219356/from-constellations-yuuris-sp-program-scores)
> 
>    
> [Come talk to me on tumblr!](http://daswarschonkaputt.tumblr.com/)


	9. lux, veritas, virtus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor uses emotional honesty. It's super effective!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, jeez, it's been a while, eh? Long story short, things kind of became a bit of a shit show shortly after I updated this fic the last time, and all sorts of things happened. But, I'm back, and I've got a new chapter for you guys.
> 
> "lux, veritas, virtus" = light, truth, courage
> 
> NB: this was only loosely proofread. there may be some mistakes.

**phichit+chu** NATS NATS NATS NATS NATS

 **katsuki_yu** I see you’re enjoying being back in Thailand

 **phichit+chu** it is time for REVENGE yuuri

 **phichit+chu** there is a national title out there that is soon going to be mine

 **phichit+chu** i am going to worlds next year even if i have to strangle nithiz saowaluk on the podium to do it

 **katsuki_yu** lbr he’d probably let you

 **katsuki_yu** honestly it’s sort of terrifying how much the kid idolises you

 **phichit+chu** i KNOW

 **phichit+chu** my very own kenjirou minami

 **katsuki_yu** who?

 **phichit+chu** the skater who kept staring at you at ur nats, kinda gave off a ‘notice me senpai’ vibe

 **katsuki_yu** blond hair with a red streak?

 **phichit+chu** thats the one

 **katsuki_yu** he was sort of… intense

 **phichit+chu** he was very intense and also very much in awe of the great yuuri katsuki and posted like 100 surreptitious selfies with u in the background to his instagram

 **phichit+chu** after the awards ceremony he really wanted to go talk to u but he chickened out when he saw u glaring

 **katsuki_yu** glaring? why was I glaring?

 **phichit+chu** bc u couldnt see anything

 **katsuki_yu** so you mean squinting

 **phichit+chu** when half the skating world thinks ur fckin terrifying yuuri, its glaring

 **phichit+chu** maybe u should consider contact lenses

 **katsuki_yu** hahaha ask celestino to show you pictures of my eyes when I tried contact lenses for the first time

 **katsuki_yu** we had to drop out of an ice show in japan and go to the hospital instead

 **phichit+chu** ooooh stories from celestinos midlife crisis yes pls

 **katsuki_yu** I wish you wouldn’t call it that

 **phichit+chu** what would u call moving to a foreign country bare weeks after breaking up with your girlfriend to coach a skater u saw skate on an abandoned rink once

 **phichit+chu** bc i would call it a textbook midlife crisis

 **katsuki_yu** why am I friends with you

 **phichit+chu** bc u were lowkey rude to me when we met and i decided to befriend u out of spite

_phichit+chu sent katsuki_yu an image_

**phichit+chu** nithiz made me a banner

 **phichit+chu** i kno ur thai is shitty so ill save us all a bit of embarrassment and tell u it means ‘welcome home and good luck’

 **katsuki_yu** would you say the banner is better or worse than the voicemail last year?

 **phichit+chu** better

 **phichit+chu** so much better

 **phichit+chu** i dont kno if u remember but it was literally 40 mins of him apologising and crying bc he was being sent to worlds instead of me

 **phichit+chu** i mean fair to him i was ROBBED

 **phichit+chu** but i did miss last year’s nationals so like

 **phichit+chu** its not like it was his fault

 **katsuki_yu** if it had been a year or two earlier they would have sent you regardless

 **phichit+chu** ah yes the olympic effect

 **phichit+chu** basically the driving force behind christophes entire career

 **katsuki_yu** oh my god he did start off in the olympics really young didn’t he

_phichit+chu sent katsuki_yu an image_

**phichit+chu** foetus!chris for ur viewing pleasure

 **phichit+chu** looking at him this young and innocent u just sort of wonder where it all went wrong

 **katsuki_yu** idk but I’m like 90% sure its stéphane’s fault

 **phichit+chu** u kno what that makes a disturbing amount of sense

\--

There is a strange detached feeling in Yuuri’s chest as he sees the social media posts roll in from the Thailand National Championships. A shot of Phichit waving at the audience. Phichit fist-bumping Celestino. Phichit laughing as he picks himself up after a fall. Phichit putting his skate guards on.

He turns away from his laptop screen to try and focus on his annotated copy of _The Life and Times of Michael K_ , but he can’t make his eyes stay on the neatly printed words in front of him.

Phichit signing something for a fan. Phichit taking a selfie. Phichit cajoling Celestino into giving him a piggyback ride.

Yuuri’s phone rings.

It’s like a spell has been broken. Yuuri shuts his laptop lid and drops his book, reaching across his desk to pull his phone free of its charging cable. The caller ID reads, _The Other Rink_ , followed by a string of emojis that Yuuri knows Phichit is responsible for. The thing in Yuuri’s chest comes loose once more, but he pushes it down, determined to ignore it, and picks up the call.

“Yuuri, it’s Andrea. Are you busy right now?”

Yuuri knows better than to think of that question as anything more than a formality. Yuuri doesn’t pick up the phone when he’s busy, and Andrea both knows this and doesn’t care. She’s called Celestino before, when Yuuri has ignored her calls, and demanded he pass him the phone.

As Phichit says, some things are unavoidable: death, taxes, and publicists.

Yuuri sighs. “Not really,” he says. “What do you need?”

Because Andrea always needs something, be it a social media account with Yuuri’s name stamped across it, or Yuuri dressed in a kimono endorsing dish soap – and she nearly always gets it.

“We need to talk about your plans for the summer,” Andrea says. “A season off is one thing, but dropping out of the World Team Trophy means that you should probably show your face in Japan a couple of times before the next season begins. _Stars on Ice_ have made their usual offer. You want to accept?”

“Tokyo area?” Yuuri asks, running his finger down the spine of his book.

“I figured you’d prefer it that way,” she replies. “I can try and get something closer to your hometown if you want, though. To be honest, there aren’t many shows that will turn you down.”

Yuuri grimaces. “No, that’s fine. Tokyo’s good.”

“If you stop by the club sometime, we can iron out the dates,” Andrea says. “It would also give me a chance to talk to you about the other offers that have come through for you. There are a couple of endorsement deals I think you might be interested in.”

Yuuri doubts that. He’s never had an endorsement offer that he was interested in.

He pulls his hand away from his book. “Andrea,” he says. “Those ice shows…”

“Yes?”

Yuuri lets the rest of the sentence drift away from him without ever saying it. “I’ll start putting together some exhibition skates for them, something fresh.”

There’s a pause. “More video game music?” Andrea asks dryly.

Yuuri flushes. “I, uh,” he says, “I haven’t really had that much time for gaming this season.”

“Well, let me know what you decide,” Andrea replies. “I’ll pass the information along to the relevant organisers whenever you’re ready.”

Yuuri sometimes forgets that Andrea speaks fluent Japanese, especially as she insists on them speaking English together. “Thanks,” he says.

Andrea sighs. “Take care of yourself, Yuuri. Text me when you have a good time to meet.”

She hangs up.

Yuuri sits in his desk chair for a long while, staring at nothing, before he finally reaches for his laptop. When he opens the lid, the first thing he does is close the window of Phichit’s adventures in Thailand and open up his music library.

Choreography isn’t something Yuuri ever thought he would be good at when he was younger. He remembers messing around in Minako’s studio, stitching together childish routines to whatever music had captured his attention that week – and he remembers the way she would always, always clap, no matter how much of an idiot he made himself look.

In the Novice Division, Coach Nakamura handled it. She only suggested he make the switch to professional choreography when he moved up to Juniors, not that his family had the money to afford it. His parents would have done it anyway – scraped and saved and sacrificed for his skating, for a potential success that he might not have even been capable of – and the thought of making such a selfish request turned his stomach.

So Yuuri told Coach Nakamura that he wanted to do it himself.

He hated it, in the beginning. Yuuri has always been all too good at tangling himself up in the spectre of unspoken rules, and it felt like choreography was littered with them. He obsessed over each movement, each turn, each spin, terrified of the possibility that someone would somehow read his inexperience through his skating, and laugh. Coach Nakamura didn’t help much at all, noncommittal whenever he asked for her opinion, and evasive when he asked for her help. Whenever he had to show her his progress on his programs, he felt tense with anticipation of disdain that never came and interest she never showed.

He still feels like that sometimes, but it’s easier now, with time. Celestino knew what he was doing, and never held back from comments and opinions, unselfconscious even when he had to mime whatever change he thought Yuuri should make. And Yuuri gradually figured it all out, learned how rhythm works on the ice, how his body needs to move, which patterns work and which don’t.

He gets it, now, for the most part.

Yuuri scrolls through the playlists in his music library, frowning just a little when he realises how many of them relate somehow back to skating. _EARN THAT QUAD_ is his and Phichit’s playlist from strength training at the gym, and _Only True 90s Kids Remember_ is a playlist full of all the pieces Celestino skated to during his competitive career. There are other, more utilitarian titles, like _Warm-Up Music (2013-14)_ – which was previously titled _OLYMPICS HYPE_ , and was put together by Yuuko and Nishigori for him – and _Demos from Minnah_. He hovers over that last one, before dragging the cursor away and instead clicking on _Classical Program Ideas_.

He plugs in his headphones and sits back to listen.

A few pieces he skips past bare moments into the music. Others, his interest holds until barely halfway through. Occasionally, he hears a familiar few notes, an echo of an old exhibition skate, and his finger hovers just over the skip button, unsure if he wants to reminisce or pull away entirely.

Beethoven. Chopin. Yiruma. More Beethoven. Piano upon piano upon piano. Saint-Saëns. Dvorak. Mozart. A whole orchestra inside his head, perfectly in tune, but somehow not quite right.

Yuuri exits the playlist, eyes sliding shut as he leans back in his chair. _Think,_ he tells himself. _Think. What is the story you want to tell?_

But when he reaches inside of himself for some echo of a desire, there’s nothing but static.

\--

**tealxross**

If you ever feel unprepared for something, just remember that fifteen year-old figure skater Christophe Giacometti was planning a long junior division career when his country went “yolo” and sent him to the Olympics anyway.

c **hulanope**

#no you don’t understand #he didn’t even realise he would be headed to the olympics until someone asked him about it at the press conference after nats #he was like ‘vancouver? world juniors this year are in the netherlands’ #and then #the dawning look of horror on his face #HE WAS NOT PREPARED

@crispysala’s tags on this post are a gift but i can’t believe no one thought to include the gif

[GIF]

“oh fuck”

 **1,011 Notes**     source: tealxross    #figure skating #i adore chris but this gif is the funniest thing ever #‘i fucked up’ #‘…by not fucking up’ #god he looks so young here #chris is the master of many things #including both sex appeal and puberty #christophe giacometti #swiss hottie

\--

The day Victor’s mother died, he did everything right.

The kids in his grief counselling group would always talk about that last day as if it were something they needed to fix. Like a kiss goodbye and an “I love you” would suddenly make everything okay. It wouldn’t, but each time Victor opened his mouth to say that, the guilt closed his throat. All he could do was sit there in tense, dreadful silence.

The thing is, Victor was one of the lucky ones. His mother died, but he never had to worry about money, or moving schools, or living with strangers, or whether or not she knew he loved her before she was gone. For all he sneered at his aunt that he was her pity case – a _tragic_ orphan – it wasn’t like there was much tragic about him, at all.

He missed his mother, though, deeply and bewilderingly. Everything about her ached, like a severe burn struggling to heal.

Victor runs his fingers down he now loose stitching of his mother’s old skates. Never let it be said that Yuri Plisetsky has never strayed close to a white flag; the fact that he brought them with him to America means he probably knew it was unlikely he could talk Victor into coming back to Russia.

It’s… kind of nice, that he would come anyway.

Victor sighs, and puts the skates down.

It was a dumb idea to take them with him to the rink. The leather is worn and soft, and the laces are close to snapping. Victor will never admit it aloud, but Yakov probably saved him from injury by making him buy fresh boots all those years back. It’s a miracle Victor got as far as he did without the things falling apart.

“Do I still love skating, huh,” he murmurs in quiet Russian.

What kind of question even is that? Victor’s relationship with skating isn’t so much loving as it is co-dependent. He doesn’t know what kind of person he would be without it, and he has no idea if that’s something he should try to figure out.

He thinks he’d miss skating, though, if he stopped.

The door to the rink opens, and Victor looks up from his seat in the stands. He’s not technically supposed to be here quite yet, the ice having been booked months in advance by Yuuri’s – former? – coach, but Karen had said something about an away competition, which Victor had aligned in his mind with Thai Nationals and decided to chance it.

Oh. It’s Yuuri.

Victor relaxes back into his seat, fingers straying to his mother’s skates yet again. He really _should_ call attention to himself, but…

Yuuri skates differently when he knows Victor’s watching. He’s a touch tenser, a touch less certain, a touch off in his jumps. It feel self-conscious. Victor hates it. He prefers—well, maybe not the polished Yuuri from competitions and podiums, but the Yuuri he saw that first night at the rink. Distant, lost in a story only he knows, candid.

Yuuri laces up his boots quickly, and runs through his usual warm-up routine. Victor’s seen him perform it countless times now: three laps around the rink, followed by a set of compulsory figures he makes look lazy. Yuuri drifts out of his last figure of eight and skates over to the boards, where he sets up his phone with a portable speaker. A few moments later, music fills the rink.

Huh. It’s Holst. A little overdone, but at least it’s _Saturn_ , not _Jupiter_.

Yuuri waits a few moments, then pushes off the boards, and starts to sketch out a pattern on the ice. Turn. Turn. Turn. Walley jump. Another turn. Yuuri makes a disgusted face, and skates back over to his phone.

The music changes. To Vivaldi’s _The Four Seasons_. Which is, if possible, even more overdone than Holst.

Victor frowns down at the rink. It’s odd to see this process – the development of the choreography that Yuuri is so famous for – but it makes sense to think that Yuuri starts his programs with the step sequence. It’s so often the focal point of them, the moment the music swells and then comes crashing back down.

At least Yuuri skips _Ride of the Valkyries_ before it can get particularly far in.

Then—Victor frowns. He hasn’t heard this piece before. It’s… the only word he can truly come up with is _lonely_.

His chest feels tight.

He’s just… tired. Of decisions, of goals, of stretching and compressing and twisting himself to look, act, become something _more_. He feels like he’s existing underwater, and the only things that reach him unmuted are the physical, teeth-knocking impacts that maybe it would be healthier to avoid. Rough landings. Sex. Pointed words and poisoned emotions.

He’s tried doing everything right, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works.

Victor Nikiforov has never skated an honest program in his life. Everything he has ever shown the audience has been a façade, a defence mechanism. He’s been irreverent, and cheeky. Serious. Brave. Passionate.

He doesn’t think he has ever let himself be alone.

Victor Nikiforov is the boy who said “I love you” to his mother and didn’t really mean it, “goodbye” and didn’t really believe it. He’s the boy who bit his tongue and choked on his loss, who doesn’t have a mother and never had a father. He’s—

Really fucking alone.

Victor looks down at his hands, down at his mother’s skates, and he inhales. Dimly, he can hear the music cut off, another piece flooding the rink, but it doesn’t matter.

 _One more season,_ he decides, gripping the dulled blades of the skates so hard the metal almost cuts his hands open.

It doesn’t feel like hope. It feels like delaying the inevitable.

\--

 **Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti  
For the next hour, I’ll be answering your questions here on twitter. Use the hashtag #AskChris and I’ll try to get back to you!

 **jane air** @skategirl9901  
What’s the hardest thing about competitive figure skating? #AskChris

 **Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti  
@skategirl9901 Generally, the initial expense. For me, personally, being away from my cat during competitive season.

 **Luna Heather** @luna122494  
Who is the #MysteryMan in all your instagram posts? #AskChris

 **Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti  
@luna122494 That’s my dance instructor and choreographer, Arnold! We’ve known each other for a long time

 **just a little bit** @hmbmv  
you have sleepovers with your choreographer??!? #AskChris

 **Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti  
@hmbmv Well when you put it like that it does sound weird hahaha #nothingtoseehere

 **born to win** @katsudonyou  
You mentioned that Phichit was your second favourite skater, but who is your first? #AskChris

 **Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti  
@katsudonyou That would be Yuuri Katsuki, the man who broke my heart. It was a night I’ll never forget. Sadly, Yuuri cannot say the same.

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
@skater_giacometti oh my god, Yuuri’s going to be so pissed when he sees this

 **Christophe Giacometti** @skater_giacometti  
@phikachulanont Don’t you mean IF he sees this?

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phikachulanont  
@skater_giacometti are you kidding? I’ve already sent him a screenshot #skaterbrosbeforeskaterhoes

 

[IMAGE]

**crispysala**

I can’t decide if the best thing about this is the implication that Chris is sleeping with his choreographer (and fyi Arnold Bachman is a POLE DANCING INSTRUCTOR) or the implication that he and YK had a one night stand that YK was too smashed to remember

**crispysala**

Or that Phichit is #CONFIRMED as the friend who screenshots you trash talking someone behind their back and sends it to them just to stir shit

**chulanope**

chris’s programs are choreographed by a pole dancer

everything makes sense now

 **2,034 Notes** source: crispysala #figure skating #international man of mystery on ice #christophe giacometti #figure skating’s ultimate insider #phichit chulanont #japanese sweetheart #yuuri katsuki #social media

\--

Yuuri’s head is an echo-chamber of everything he hasn’t done today – the essay he hasn’t planned, the music he hasn’t chosen, the choreography that doesn’t exist. Part of him doesn’t want to head back to the rink to teach Victor, but that’s a petty, selfish desire and Yuuri refuses to tolerate it. He made a commitment. He’s going to keep it.

Victor isn’t on the ice when Yuuri arrives, instead leaning against the boards and scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up briefly, before returning his gaze to his screen.

“What do you know about Noemi Palmer?”

Yuuri frowns. “Who?”

“Exactly,” Victor says, viciously tapping a button on his phone. “What about Edward Barrerra?”

Is this a test? Is Yuuri supposed to actually know who these people are? “Uh…”

Another vicious button tap. “Keith Mathis?”

Something clicks in Yuuri’s head. “Wait, are these – are these figure skating coaches?” He processes that statement, and realises what it means. “You’ve decided to continue skating?”

Victor looks up from his phone and meets Yuuri’s eye. Then he looks away. “Yeah. For now, at least.”

That’s… Yuuri doesn’t have a clue what that is. Good? Bad? A demonstration of how a reasonable person makes a reasonable decision, compared to Yuuri’s own fucked up thought processes?

“I’m glad,” Yuuri says quietly, and is startled to find he means it.

Victor still doesn’t look up from his phone. “Yeah, well, I’m not,” he says. “Ugh, I’ve got about fifty offers from coaches back in Russia, and three vaguely threatening emails from the FFKKR mentioning everything from mandatory military service to national pride.”

Oh. Somehow… Somehow Yuuri had forgotten about this side of the deal. That Victor continuing skating meant him going back to Russia, where every single coach alive would be fighting for a chance at shaping the potential he embodied.

He takes a deep breath. “Well,” he says, “what do you want in a coach?”

Victor shrugs.

Yuuri feels his fingers scrunch into his palms, nails scratching lightly against his skin. He swallows. “I mean,” he says, “you probably want someone with a good eye for jumps, right? And you definitely need someone to work on your skating skills with you. I can—I can ask Celestino what he knows about the people who’ve made you offers, though he probably won’t know much about Russian—”

Victor’s looking at him now, phone screen black, and Yuuri feels his face heat up.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t know what for.

Victor fiddles with his phone, but he doesn’t unlock the screen again. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s just – to be honest, Yuuri, I don’t really care about any of that.” He pauses, considering. “After your senior debut, why did you stay with Celestino Cialdini?”

Yuuri’s mouth goes dry. “What?”

“Well, you can’t deny that you made a big splash at the Grand Prix,” Victor continues. “Cialdini wasn’t a particularly well-known or well-regarded coach, and you could have definitely traded up for the next season. So why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t like that, Victor.” Yuuri’s gaze drops to his feet. The laces on his right trainer are twisted. “Celestino was—he was the first coach that… that I could work with.” He swallows again. “He—he understood me.”

That’s a lie. It was never that Celestino understood. It was that Celestino _tolerated_ even when he shouldn’t, and Yuuri was too much of a coward to switch to a coach that might not give him so much leeway.

“That’s what I want.”

Yuuri’s head snaps up, heart jumping into his throat. “Celestino?”

“No. To be understood by my coach.”

“That’s—that’s not something that’s very easily quantifiable, Victor.”

Victor pushes off from the boards. “Okay,” he says, “how’s this? I want a coach that cares about me. Who is a _team_ with me. Who wants me to win not because of anything like reputation or expectation, but because it means I’m doing well, and they want me to do well. I just—” his voice softens, “I just want a coach who cares.”

 _I just want a coach who cares._ It hits Yuuri somewhere soft and unguarded, batters at the cracks that litter what little armour he could ever assemble, and suddenly, it’s like staring in a mirror turned back four years.

( _Yuuri just needs to be more disciplined with himself._ )

And Yuuri’s treacherous, treacherous brain opens his mouth, and says words that never should have been spoken aloud.

“I could be that.”

\--

 **katsuki_yu** PHICHIT

 **katsuki_yu** PHICHIT HELP

 **katsuki_yu** PHICHIT I’VE JUST DONE SOMETHING REALLY REALLY STUPID

**Author's Note:**

> What am I even doing?
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr, where I am [daswarschonkaputt](http://daswarschonkaputt.tumblr.com).


End file.
